


/goggles: Sam Winchester, Redacted (A Love Story)

by JackVelvet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Parody, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackVelvet/pseuds/JackVelvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghost King is kidnapping people for nefarious purposes. When Dean and Sam find the common link between the missing people, they turn to Castiel for help. But then Dean disappears, leaving Sam and Castiel alone to find him. Also, chaos ensues, and the Supernatural boys all decide to come to my highschool and/or place of employment and hang out with my friends. (Not really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based upon the TV series _Supernatural_ created by Eric Kripke.
> 
> This is a work of parody.
> 
> This work was originally published at LiveJournal.
> 
> *** * * * !! IMPORTANT !! * * * *** Please be sure you do not choose "Hide Creator's Style" when viewing this fic. If you have, select "Show Creator's Style" to get the full impact of the fic. Thank you!

**WARNING:** This fiction may insult the intellect of writers, readers, critics, lurkers, fanatics, stalkers, comedians, stoics, and others, including this author. Harmful if swallowed seriously. Please seek medical attention if you exhibit signs of taking fandom too seriously.

**Ingredients:** Alpha-numeric characters, punctuation, italics, underlines, bold font, special formatting (left justificationesium, right justificationiconium, center justificationmonotonotetraoxide), wild organic tangents, grapes.

**Allergen Alert:** Processed in a facility containing satire, irony, and sarcasm. If you don’t know the difference between them, that’s fine. No one’s gonna call you out on it.

* * *

**TRAILER:**

* * *

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/jackvelvet/pic/0004h6kc/)

[ [Click to view original web page](http://pics.livejournal.com/jackvelvet/pic/0004h6kc) ]

Ghost King strikes again!! 

_February 28th, 10:24 PM by **kinghunter23** _

Guys! Seriously! This Ghost King shit's for real! I found another case in my area that matches it exactly! In DC, there's this guy who went missing, and there was ectoplasm at the scene! I swear!!! The cops didn't get it (dur, they never do!), but the description matches exactly!

The Washington Post even removed my editorial once people started sending them letters. Look:

<http://www.washingtonpost.com/newssearch/search.html?st=%22Ghost%20King%22>

**Mood:** Frustrated  
 **Tags:** ghost king, ectoplasm, censorship

9 Comments | Reply | Share | Subscribe to Thread

_February 28th, 10:53 PM, user **ghostfaceralpha** replied: _

Ectoplasm can be a sign of any spirit, but after going through all of your “ghost king” tags, I see the pattern too. Sadly, my team can't afford the tix to fly out and investigate. We'll keep an eye out in our neck of the woods and compile a report for our site.

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:11 PM, user **kinghunter23** replied: _

That sucks. I love your site though, I'll check back there often. Do you know any other groups in the area?

(OMG, 11:11 LOL!)

Edited by kinghunter23, February 28th, 11:12 PM

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:16 PM, user **ghostfacer_shammie** replied: _

Nice, KH. Make a wish!

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_February 28th, 11:17 PM, user **ghostfaceralpha** replied: _

Well...there are these two guys...

I don't really like them too much, but they know how to get the job done. And if the Ghost King is as bad as he seems to be, they might be the guys to do it.

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:23 PM, user **kinghunter23** replied: _

Are they in the DC-Metro area? How come I've never heard of them?

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:30 PM, user **ghostfaceralpha** replied: _

I have no idea where they're from, but they always seem to show up anywhere a big case is going down.

I guess I'll send the one guy an email, but there's no guarantee he'll read it.

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:33 PM, user **kinghunter23** replied:_

Thanks, GFs. Let's hope the GK is a force that can be stopped.

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:49 PM, user **blaire_bear** replied:_

OMG! GHOSTFACERS! I love u guys so much! <3 <3 I would totes read an email if I got it from u! Keep up the good work!

Reply | Subscribe

_February 28th, 11:53 PM, user **ghostfaceralpha** replied:_

Thanks, blaire_bear! :)

Reply | Subscribe

* * *

[ ](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/email.png)

[ [Click to view the original email](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/email.png) ]

**Possible Job – Please Read**

From: GF Admin <ghostfacers-admin@ghostfacers.com>

March 1

Hey Sam,

It's Ed, from the Ghostfacers. I've got a possible case for you and Dean. We'd go investigate it ourselves, but our team is really slammed with local cases. I know you guys don't take us seriously, but this seems pretty important and sounds pretty dangerous. As much as I hate to admit it, you're probably the best guys for the job.

Ever hear of the Ghost King? There's a guy who posts on a paranormal forum that keeps talking about him. It sounds legit. Again, my team would investigate it, but we're really booked. So busy, I swear, our success is through the roof.

I had Harry put together a page for the Ghost King on our site (ghostfacers.com). Most recent case seems to be DC, but it looks like the GK has hit places up and down the East Coast.

I would like to reiterate that my team and I would _really_ like to check this out, but our hands are tied. Obviously, I would never contact you two unless I thought it was really important. We're not amateurs anymore. Check it out. 

Ed

Ghostfacers Leader-in-Chief

P.S. Make sure you have java enabled, or the site won't work.

* * *

“Dean,” Sam says. “Check this out.”

Sam's lying on the sofa, with his feet crossed lazily and his laptop settled comfortably on his thighs.

Dean, on the other hand, has his gun dismantled on the cheap table in the back of the motel room. He's carefully cleaning every piece. “Just tell me,” he says to his brother.

“Remember Ed and Harry?”

Dean's eyes remain focused on his task. “The Ghostfacers, or whatever? Yeah.”

“I got an email from Ed, but for some reason the mail server delayed it. He sent it last month.”

“And?”

“He was trying to give us a heads up on _this_ case, Dean.”

Dean stops what he's doing and looks at Sam. “You're kidding. Them?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, scrolling through the information on the internet. “This thing called the 'Ghost King.' It's got all the earmarks of our case. Ectoplasm, missing persons...”

Dean resumes cleaning. “That don't mean anything, Sammy.”

Sam peers over the laptop at Dean. “Let me finish?”

Dean nods his head.

“Right,” Sam says. “First cases occurred along the East Coast. Since he sent this email, their page has been updated. Looks like there's been two cases in the Midwest, not including the one we're investigating now. The count of missing people per case seems to be rising. At first, only one person was being taken, then after a few, two, and so on. Now it looks like it's up to four.”

“So we've got two people missing here. You're saying we've got two more to go before this thing jets?”

“At least.”

“And how do we know that what we’re huntin’ is this 'Ghost King' or whatever?”

“Don't laugh.”

“Why?”

“Just don't laugh.”

“Just tell me already!”

“A black glove.”

Dean laughs. “A black glove? A friggin' black glove, Sam?”

“Covered in ectoplasm.”

“That's disgusting.”

“Every time someone goes missing, there’s a black glove left at the scene.” Sam shrugs with one shoulder. “That's the pattern, and we hunt where there's a supernatural pattern, last I checked.”

Dean sighs. “Fine. So we’ll see if the police found any random gloves for our case. Any way to predict where this thing'll hit next?”

“Yep,” Sam answers. “We should’ve seen it with this case too. Just don't laugh.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, Sam.”

“They all claimed to be angel mediums.”

* * *

The Winchesters drive the Impala over to the local police station in hopes of rifling through some evidence. After successfully getting through their spiels as Agents Matthew Fox Mulder (Dean, since he's the sexual deviant) and Dana Carvey-Scully (Sam, since he's the smarty-pants who somehow kept his faith despite the extensive paper he wrote on Epicurus at Stanford), they're allowed access to the evidence room, wherein the police lovingly placed evidence for the case in a tidy little box labeled “Walters, Jamie.”

“Dude,” Dean says, pointing at the label. “Look.”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a quick glance, “it's not exactly labeled efficiently. I mean, check the rest of this place out. How do they stay organized? Where's all the case numbers?”

Dean elbows Sam and points at the name again. “Dude. _Look_.”

Sam reads the name and runs it in it mind. He feels like he's been immersed in a 90s TV drama. An awful, horrifyingly catchy earworm embeds itself deep into his mind.

“I _hate_ you,” Sam says.

“Hehe,” Dean snickers. He plucks the box down and sets it on a table. There are two evidence bags inside: one with a blood-sample collected from who-cares-where, and the other with a glove.

Dean picks up the latter bag. The glove inside is covered in a gelatinous goo more akin to semen than ectoplasm. He holds it up to Sam's face and smirks. “Heh, Sam. Smell the glove.”

Sam swats Dean's hand away as his entire face puckers—yep, each feature is _that_ scrunched. Whatever happened to the days when a story could double as poetry? Literal interpretations aren’t always literary. 

“Well, it’s definitely this ‘Ghost King.’ Do you think we should get Cas involved in this?” Sam asks.

Dean sets the bag back down and ponders the question for a moment. “Angel mediums? We could.”

Sam shrugs. “Alright. Well, let's do it.”

The brothers close their eyes and bow their heads in unison. They wait for a second, then another second, then another.

“It's your turn, Sammy,” Dean says, his eyes still closed.

“He likes you better,” Sam returns, also keeping his eyes shut. He wonders if an officer will walk in on their strange prayer. He realizes that it's possible the room is under surveillance.

“Yeah, but I always call 'im. I don't wanna sound like a desperate girlfriend or anything.”

“Dean, you _are_ his girlfriend.”

“No I'm not.”

“You might as well be.”

“I'm not gay for Cas.”

“Well he's gay for you.”

“Thanks Sam, like I really need this right now.”

“So you admit you thought of it.” Sam thinks Dean must be making his constipation face, because he doesn't respond right away, and he can hear some quiet grunts in Dean's throat.

“Bite me, Sam. Castiel is _not_ gay for me.”

“What if he had a female vessel?”

“Why do I get the feeling we've had this conversation already?”

“Maybe you _wanted_ to have it.”

“Sam!”

“Fine fine,” Sam concedes. He gets back into a prayer stance. “Oh Castiel, uh, we've got this job involving disappearing angel mediums and this thing called the Ghost King. We know you're busy with that war, but it'd be nice if you could show up for a second and give us any pointers you might have.”

“Sam.”

“Oh, right, this is Sam. Sam Winchester.”

They wait for a moment, each of them fluttering open an eye to check the room.

“He'd be here right now,” Dean says.

“I know,” Sam says. He stops peeking around the room, then prays, “Dean'sheretooandhesayshi. Amen.”

A presence materializes beside them.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says, his rough voice tinged with a nearly undetectable amount of excitement. His tone returns to normal as he turns to Sam and says, “Sam, I got your prayer.”

Sam looks at Dean, thinking, _I told ya so!_

Dean glares at his brother, knowing that look, and replies, _Bite me, bitch._

“You ever heard of the Ghost King?” Sam asks. He notices how Castiel stands _that_ much closer to Dean than him.

“I have,” Castiel answers. “He's a fallen angel.”

“Great,” says Dean. “Another crazy angel. _Awesome._ ”

“If he's an angel, then what do you make of this ectoplasm?” Sam asks. He picks up the evidence bag and shows it to Castiel.

“That's not ectoplasm.”

“Okay,” Sam says, thinking this might be similar to when Gabriel posed as a trickster. “Then what is it?”

“The semen of his vessel.”

“Oh gross,” Dean says, partially gagging. “Semen?”

“Semen, ejaculate.” Castiel pauses. “You have harsher words for it, Dean.”

Sam chuckles and dangles the bag in front of Dean's face. “Maybe _you_ should smell the glove.”

“I'm gonna lick you in the balls, Sam.”

“Lick?” Sam asks, eyes wide.

Dean's face contorts so much that it could audition for _Cirque du Soleil_. “I said kick.”

Castiel leans over and informs Sam, “His finger slipped.”

“You mean his tongue,” says Sam.

Castiel shifts with discomfort. “Yes, of course. His tongue.”

Dean shudders and returns to the topic at hand. “So how come Heaven hasn't been able to find 'im yet?”

Castiel takes the bag from Sam and inspects it closely. “Enochian.”

“The glove?” asks Sam.

“The semen. He's etched every individual head—” Castiel tilts his head, realizing he's made an error. “—No, every tail of sperm with an Enochian spell. Very intricate work. He _was_ known as a craftsman in Heaven.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Dean says. “This guy—this angel—is a complete whack-job, pun intended?”

“You're not sure if your pun is intended or not intended?” asks Sam.

“No, it's a rhetorical question on whether or not he's a nut-case.”

“I know it is, I'm just saying that the structure is all wrong.”

“So go blog about it then, _Stanford_. You know what I meant.” Dean looks around. “Look, I gotta take a piss. Can you two think about our next move here before I get back, please?” He doesn't give them time to answer before heading out of the room.

Castiel continues to study the bag while Sam pretends to search for more evidence, but there's nothing else to go by. They're just having an awkward moment, because without Dean, there's not much for them to bond over.

“Sorry about the other day,” Sam blurts out.

“What do you mean?”

“When I got my soul back. You tried to hug me and I just looked at you like an idiot.”

Castiel eyes Sam with suspicion. “Do you...want the hug now?”

Sam gives that same look back. “Do you...want to give me one now?”

“...I could.”

“...Okay.”

Castiel spreads his arms wide, the evidence bag still in one hand. Sam opens his arms as well but doesn't move in.

“Is there something wrong?” Castiel asks.

“Can you put down the bag?”

“Oh.” Castiel sets it down and returns to hugging position. “Ready?”

_Things could not be more awkward_ , Sam thinks. “Yeah.” 

They step in and embrace, a hearty hug involving a few back pats and happy, gentle squeezes for emphasis. Castiel tries to pull away first, but Sam doesn't register it right away, so Cas keeps hugging. Then it hits Sam, so he tries to back away, but Castiel's got him tight.

“Uh,” Sam grunts out.

“I have no idea if we're supposed to be done,” Castiel admits. “This is much easier with Dean.”

They back-pat each other again.

“We can be done now,” Sam says.

“Okay.”

“Okay, let go.”

Castiel releases Sam. Sam releases Castiel. The room becomes a very uncomfortable place. Several minutes pass.

“It is taking Dean a long time to relieve himself,” Castiel says.

“Maybe he's dropping the kids off at the pool.”

Castiel doesn't get it. “What?”

“The uh, other thing. You know. Number two.”

Castiel nods his head slowly. “Oh.”

Several more minutes pass.

“I'm going to check on him,” Castiel says.

“I really wouldn't do that,” Sam advises.

“Sam, both of you have spoken to angels.”

The deduction registers with Sam. “Oh _shit_ ,” he says, racing out the room.

Castiel follows. “You have to drop the kids off at the pool?”

“What? No. Come on.”

“I'm coming,” Castiel says.

“Please don't say that right now,” Sam requests.

“This would be faster if I knew where the bathroom was.”

They round a corner, bringing the men's room into view. Sam nods at it.

“Race you,” Castiel says, disappearing.

Sam runs to catch up with the angel. He bursts into the men's room, where Castiel is staring blankly into the last stall with his back to the urinals. “Dean!” Sam shouts, kicking open the first stall. He proceeds down the line, kicking every stall door open, finding no one inside. “Dean!” he shouts again.

“Here,” Castiel says. He turns around and points to a urinal.

Sam looks. Atop the urinal cake lies a black glove, covered in the Ghost King's...ectoplasm.

Sam kicks the stall behind him. “Damn it!”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam tells Castiel to scram and wait for him outside until he finishes at the police station. He lets the officers know what happened, because any help they can get—at least with the black-glove lead—is welcome. While the police bag and tag the evidence from their own restroom, Sam coordinates with Bobby, and soon the “FBI” takes over the case. Sam's running point and has a rookie, Officer Teri Bauer, tracking down every known angel medium in the area.

“Yellow pages, psychic fairs, the internet, psych wards,” Sam tells her. “Check everything. You can reach me at this number.” Sam hands her a card.

The chief—Denise Crane, or Denny—offers him a desk. It's one thing for a civilian to go missing, it's another when one of their own vanishes, even if it's a Fed. The chief doesn't lack compassion; she's just got a fierce sense of loyalty.

“I'll be out in the field most of the time,” Sam says to her.

“That's fine,” she replies. “I know what it's like to be stuck without resources. If it means giving up a desk to catch this bastard, then I want to do it.”

Sam thanks her and joins Castiel outside, who is waiting by the Impala.

“Dean had the keys,” Sam says. He runs his hand through his hair. “Everything's in the trunk.”

Castiel looks at Sam blankly, unable to solve his problem. Sam looks back at him, wondering if Cas can just pop his hand in the trunk and fiddle around like he'd done to Sam.

_Why doesn't this thing have a trunk release?_ Sam wonders, thinking that Cas could teleport inside and mess around. Sam also thinks about busting the window and trying to steal it, then wonders again if Cas could do that nifty hand trick with the ignition. 

Castiel continues to offer no support.

Sam gives up and hustles back inside the station. He asks Bauer if she could call a lock-smith.

“Sure,” Bauer says. “I was just about to call you. I already found something.”

Sam's brows raise in delight. _Good news already_? “Sure,” he says. “What did you find?”

“Donna Belladonna,” she says. “Does business out of a bar down Main. I called up and the owner said she'll be there tonight.” She scribbles information down on paper for him.

Sam thinks that's a weird name, but doesn't react to it. “No record?”

“A conviction for fraud under a prior name back in the 90s, but that's it.” She hands him the information. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Sam says. “Keep it up.”

It starts raining when they hit Main. Sam flicks on the wipers. The turn signal kicks on.

“How...?” Sam says, finishing the thought in his mind.

“How what?” asks Castiel.

Sam can't take his focus from driving, because for some damn reason that he's finding out at this exact moment, Main Street sucks to drive on when dry, and it's even worse when hardly wet. The last thing he wants Dean to come back to is a giant dent in the car. He searches for the wipers with those long fingers of his, failing miserably each and every time. He just keeps turning on the same turn signal.

“How am I failing at this?” Sam asks, not really looking for an answer.

“I don't know what 'this' is, Sam,” says Cas, “but you may want to keep your windshield clear of water before your view is completely obstructed.”

Sam grumbles a bit. “I _know_. I just can't find the wipers. I keep turning on the damn—” The asshole behind them honks. “—I know!” Sam yells at them. He grits his teeth as the driver crosses over the double-yellow to pass him. “Idiot.”

“You should just let me take us there,” says Castiel.

Sam turns on the turn signal again. “How is this possible?” he yells. He realizes he's getting worked up for nothing, so he takes a deep breath and attempts to calm down. “We've turned down several roads since we left the station, right Cas?”

It hits Castiel that this might be one of those situations where he should just play along. “Yes.”

“And I know I've signaled for each of those turns,” Sam rationalizes. “So how is it that I keep reaching for the signal when what I really want are the wipers?”

Castiel gives Sam a wary look. “Should I answer that?”

“No.”

Sam keeps driving, and the displacement of air keeps whisking away enough water to help him see.

It starts pouring.

Castiel realizes the imminent danger. “Have you ever driven this—”

“I grew up in this car, Cas!” Sam shouts. “So _why_ can't I find the damn wipers?!”

Castiel keeps his eyes forward, having not seen Sam in this state before.

Another driver behind them beeps. Sam loses it. He looks back, hits the horn twice, and yells, “Yeah, does that help _you_ drive any faster in the rain?” He hits the horn again. “I didn't think so!”

The wipers kick on.

The driver passes them.

Sam wonders if the car's been possessed. “What the hell just happened?”

Ever the cautious angel, Castiel asks again, “Should I answer that?”

Sam recomposes himself and drives like a normal, sane driver. “Please don't.”

Sam continues to feel like an idiot, while Castiel continues to be aware that Sam feels like idiot. Finally, Sam asks, “So which angel is he?”

“His name is Merkwürdigerhandschuh.”

“That doesn't sound Enochian.”

“It's not,” Castiel says. “It's German.”

“What's his Enochian name?”

“I don't know. He legally changed it ten-thousand years ago.”

“German wasn't a language then,” says Sam.

“He invented it and gave it to the Germans when the time was right.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Little of mythology does.”

“You're not mythological.” Sam glances to his right. “I'm looking right at you.”

Castiel blinks at him. “Are you?”

Sam shakes his head. “Look, we don't have time for this. The next probable victim works at this ‘Real Egg' place. We need to find it and warn the guy immediately.”

“We should set a trap for the Ghost King.”

“So put this Donna Belladonna in danger? We don't know what he's capable of.”

“I don't believe our next victim will be dangerous.”

“No. Merkuwa—the Ghost King.”

“You said 'he.'”

“Not Don A. Belladonna. Don _na_.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, recognizing Sam's confusion. “Oh.”

“I think we should just figure out if she's had any actual contact with angels, then go from there. We can keep watch overnight.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“He may not approach if I am nearby. He would see me.”

Sam shrugs and checks the passing street numbers again. “So we break out the Enochian spells.”

“But we want him to find Donna.”

Sam shakes his head. “We'll make it work. Hide us, keep her out in the open.”

“So we will be setting a trap.”

“I guess you're right.”

Castiel isn’t certain. “He may not agree to that.”

Sam snickers. “Uh, of course he won't, Cas.”

Castiel says nothing until they spot a tall neon sign, which reads “The Real Egg,” protruding from a small parking lot. “There,” he points.

Sam pulls into the lot and finds a space. The rain eases up. Sam receives a text on his phone. He whips it out and checks the message, hoping Dean sent the text.

Free deals! Text 456 or sign up now at your nearest dealer, and you'll get 100 extra texts per month, free!

“Damn,” Sam says. “Frigging Four-Five-Six.”

This alerts Castiel. “The Four-Five-Six contacted you? I need to get back to Heaven at once.”

Sam stops him just in time. “No, the cell-phone company. Just an advertisement. I expected it to be Dean.”

“Are you absolutely certain? The Four-Five-Six were banned from Earth.”

Sam's confused. “What?”

“Never mind that.”

Sam deletes the message. “You sure you can't find Dean?” he asks as they approach the door to the bar. Three men enter ahead of them.

“He's either not praying or he's hidden from me,” Castiel says.

A wildly disturbing image crosses Sam's mind. His lips purse in disgust. “Oh god, you don't think he...you know, on Dean, did he?”

Castiel is mildly irritated, or rather, only looks that way since his expressions are not always so human. “There are other ways to use the spell.”

“...We gotta find Dean.” Sam's phone rings this time. He answers it before the first ring ends. “Yeah?” is all he can manage to greet with. The rookie's on the other end.

“ _Agent Carvey-Scully?”_ Teri begins. _“This is Officer Teri Bauer. The owner of ‘The Real Egg’ called. Said Belladonna called off her performance tonight.”_

Sam ponders the last line, then checks the bar again. Donna Belladonna's profession dawns on him. “Called off? Did he give an address?”

“ _He did, but he said he doesn't think she'll be there. He tried calling her back to see what happened, and her phone kicked right to voicemail.”_

“She got tipped off.”

“ _Seems that way.”_

“Can I get that address?”

“ _Sure.”_

Bauer gives him the address. He hangs up and walks back to the Impala. Cas follows.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks.

“Belladonna's not here,” Sam says, hand on the door handle. “I got a home address. Seems his name is just an alias.”

“There still may be a lead here, Sam.”

Sam looks at the bar again and feels a foreign shiver run through his body. He’s never had a problem with homosexuality, or even bars catering to the demographic, but he’d felt secure about his own sexuality up until this very moment. No one in particular ever piqued his interest, and he didn’t feel anything shift down below when he saw the patrons entering earlier. In the past, he’d observed homosexuality from a distance; it’d been the same way at Stanford, despite the diverse student population. Sam doesn’t feel like dealing with these questions now, even if he still comes up as pure hetero in the end. He doesn’t fear the answer; he fears the process.

“Cas, that's a gay bar. I'm not going in there.”

Castiel blinks at him. “I don't understand.”

“Okay, let me help you understand,” Sam says, suddenly reminded of the nights he'd stumbled upon fan fiction for those Carver Edlund books while trying to research legitimate lore. (Hey, occasionally those fans wrote excellent stories—one of the stories had been set up so well that Dean and Sam drove fifteen hours to the town it was set in, then investigated the creature. Three days in, they realized their error, and never spoke of it again.)

“Sam?”

Sam continues. “We step in there, we'll inevitably be put into a situation where we'll have to...you know. Kiss.”

“You're more paranoid than your brother.”

“I'm just saying, Cas. God can have a pretty weird sense of humor.” Sam looks at me. “We'll be snooping somewhere that we shouldn't, and the only way out of it would be to pretend we were hiding to make-out.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Castiel points out to everyone. “Even if that happened, such an event would be meaningless.”

“That's the other part of it. Any time two straight guys go into a gay bar, either that happens, or they end up feeling comfortable enough to act gay in the atmosphere and they inevitably do.”

“Why is everything so inevitable? There is a lead inside. We should pursue it.”

Sam crosses his arms. “Fine, but I'm staying out here.”

“Why are you so afraid?” Castiel asks.

“I'm not,” Sam says, afraid. “I just—look, if you're going to do it, can you hurry up, please?”

Castiel casts a glare then disappears from sight.

It's mere minutes later, and Sam's sitting in the Impala, waiting. Castiel suddenly appears in the passenger's seat, his tie slightly looser, his collar crooked, his shirt somewhat untucked. His hair looks like someone's hand went through it. He hands Sam a file.

“Here.”

Sam takes in the sight of Castiel. “What the hell happened?”

Castiel wipes glitter from his sleeve. “Something inevitable. I'd rather not talk about it.”

Sam opens the file quickly. “The personnel file? You can't take this.”

“You take things like this all the time. Finding Dean supersedes human law,” Castiel says.

“Fine,” Sam says, handing the file back. He realizes he's said that with a hint of jealousy. _Shit_ , he thinks. _You had to ask yourself that question._ That discomfort rises again; Sam wonders if he's bi-curious, and whether to blame that on the bar or on the lack of Dean's presence. He wonders if he ever acted out on it while soulless. He hears Dean's warning in his mind:

_Don't you go scratchin', Sammy._

Sam glances at Cas again, then starts the car and pulls out of the lot. Of all the things that happened to him today, Sam thinks that this, by far, is the most ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

You: OMG JACK!!  
Me: What?  
You: I totally didn't get a chance to read the other parts of this yet. :(  
Me: That's cool. I used to have a whole speech in here about how you can click on some LiveJournal links, while I simultaneously made fun of these "author talks to you directly" scripts old fanfics used to have, but now this is on AO3, so...  
You: Um, thank you?  


[ [Direct YouTube Link](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guzPvH7qGX4) ]  


SUPERNATURAL  
Episode 616.5  
ANOTHER HOPE

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Sam Winchester and the leader of the Empire's war in Heaven, the angel Castiel, get closer and closer to the Ghost King. Meanwhile, Dean Winchester is still missing. Denny Crane, Chief of Police, and her rookie, Officer Teri Bauer, work day and night to feed information to Sam.

But as time goes on, Sam's hopes of rescuing Dean and defeating the Ghost King once and for all get dimmer and dimmer...

* * *

Sam and Castiel reach the address thirty minutes later, only to discover that the place is actually a warehouse.

“This can't be good,” Sam says, thumbing through the personnel file.

Castiel keeps his senses primed for the Ghost King. “I don't see any Enochian.”

Sam leafs through the whopping three pages in the file. “Get this,” he says. “Donna Belladonna doesn't have a real name listed, and he just started a month ago with his drag act. Looks like he incorporated the angel talk into it, kinda like John Edwards.” Sam sighs. “Guess that explains that fraud charge.”

“We should go in,” Castiel suggests.

“Wait,” Sam says. He unlocks the trunk, tosses the file inside, arms himself with a silver knife, an iron knife, and a flashlight. He grabs some silver bullets for the pistol in his holster, then pulls out a long, narrow box. He hands it to Castiel. “Here, take this.”

Castiel inspects the weapon Sam's just handed him and says, “I'm afraid I'm not familiar with a spell involving a light bulb.”

Sam shuts the trunk. “That's a fluorescent bulb, Cas. It can detect the presence of spirits.”

“We're looking for an angel.”

“Yeah, and he calls himself 'the Ghost King.' Plus, Belladonna's clearly not innocent in this one.”

“How will this detect a spirit? I can do that easily.”

“I don't know the science, but there's reports that fluorescents can light up on their own when a paranormal presence is around.”

“This is completely unnecessary,” Castiel says. He shows Sam the blade in his trench coat. “This will defeat anything.”

“Look, I just wanna try it out, okay? Dean doesn't believe it'll work, so I never get a chance to test it. Can we just do this?”

Castiel pulls the light from its box, then sets the covering on the closed trunk. “Fine.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “Let's move.”

The two sneak toward the building, each listening intently for signs of movement. Sam finds a locked door, which Castiel unlocks with a snap of his fingers.

“Show off,” Sam says. _Coulda used that with the car earlier._

Castiel shrugs. “Your method is too slow.”

They carefully open and shut the door, then tiptoe their way around the seemingly empty warehouse. There's little cover—only a few wooden crates here and there—and a touch of moonlight filtering in through the high windows. Sam inspects every area with his flashlight.

“Nothing here,” Sam says. “You?”

“No,” Castiel answers.

They walk a few more paces, nearing a corner with a bit more clutter than the rest of the building. Castiel's light faintly glows.

“Wait,” the angel says.

Sam looks at the light, does a victory dance in his head, then gets on high alert. He nods at Cas, who pulls out his weapon, dual wielding the light and blade. They step apart, keeping their backs to each other, and begin cautiously seeking out Belladonna.

Just then, a gorgeous, purple-clad man materializes before Sam. “Cas!” Sam warns.

The two train their weapons on the spirit.

“Now now,” Belladonna says. “No need to point those things at me. Consider me your...liaison, if you will.”

“Where's my brother?” Sam demands.

Belladonna lets out a huff. “Like I'm gonna tell _you_. Merky'll _kill_ me _again_ if I say anything.”

Castiel intimidates the spirit. “Give us Dean now, or cease to exist.” The fluorescent in his hand lights up to full capacity, completely illuminating the area surrounding him.

Sam thinks it looks like a light saber, but knows it's not the right time to comment.

Belladonna glares at Castiel. “No way. He may have killed me for talking to your kind, but Merky's a good man, and I'm the only one he likes enough to trust. Why do you think I'm working on his behalf now?”

Sam's eyes go wide. “Is my brother dead?”

Belladonna crosses his arms. “No. I wish he were, but Merky knows you're chasing him, and he likes the game.”

“What about the others?” Sam asks, somewhat relieved, hoping that Belladonna's not just screwing with him.

Belladonna smiles. “Look at me. What do _you_ think?”

Sam growls as Castiel swipes Belladonna through the belly with both weapons, turning the spirit into a fading mist.

“They're hunting you, hunters!” Belladonna shouts with his last ethereal breath.

Castiel's fluorescent light dulls, then flickers off.

“Cas!” Sam shouts. “What if he knew something?”

“He didn't,” Castiel says. “It was obvious that he didn't care for Dean. We just eliminated a threat.”

Sam's muscles tense as he withholds his anger. “Cas, that was our _only_ lead.”

“We'll find another one,” Castiel says.

“How?” Sam asks. “The Ghost King could jet to his next location at any time!”

“Are you going to stand there and argue with me, Sam, or are you going to get the car started so that we can go?”

Sam growls again, this one more visceral than the last. “Damn it, Cas! This is _Dean_ we're talking about! It's not like his ghost just disappeared. You _killed_ him for good.”

“I still don't understand your problem.”

Sam resists the urge to choke him. “How, Cas? How do you not get it?”

“Look.” Castiel points with his blade at the ground where Belladonna stood. A business card lies on the concrete.

Sam quickly picks up the card and reads it. “You're lucky, Cas. There was no way of knowing that this would happen.”

Castiel shrugs. “What does it say?”

Sam reads it.

Hunter-Hunting Convention  
Tomorrow, 11am-?  
Meet at the Main Street Convention Center  
Star Speaker: The Ghost King

“It's a card,” Sam says. “For a Hunting Convention.”

Castiel takes it and reads it too. “That solves the problem you never had.”

Sam glares at him. “Just get to the car.”

* * *

It takes another thirty minutes to get back to Main Street. The rain ceased during their fight with Belladonna, but the puddles it brought haven’t dried yet.

Sam hits a pothole hidden by a puddle as they pull into the convention center’s lot. “I don't remember seeing this place before.”

Castiel surveys the lot for any possible aggressors. “We passed it when you were trying to clear the window of rain.”

“Well that's a married-couple response if I ever heard one,” says Sam.

Castiel looks at him curiously. “I'm ignoring your remark.”

“Fine.”

They get out of the car and approach the building. They see a sign for the current convention, which reads:

The First and Only Annual 2011 Conference for Judges of the Arts  
 _Our Shit Really Doesn't Stink_  
← Artists, Showroom B  
A complimentary facial tissue for your emo-tears is waiting for you at the registration table. One facial tissue per artist, please. Additional tissues will not be provided.  
→ Judges, Showroom A  
Complimentary ass-wiping servants with fairly excellent (but not perfect) grammar skills are waiting for you in the restrooms. All judges must show their pass to be wiped.

“Sheesh,” Sam remarks upon reading it.

He and Castiel proceed to walk inside. An employee at the door halts them.

“May I see your convention passes?”

Sam pats his pockets. Castiel mimics him. “Sorry,” Sam says. “Think I left it in my room. Can I just go in and get my canvas?”

The employee eyes him warily. “You two don't look like artists.”

_Damn, should've changed_ , Sam thinks. He pulls out his FBI badge. “Will this work instead?” 

The employee goes wide-eyed. “Yes, sure, of course. Go right ahead.”

Sam and Castiel saunter inside without a problem.

“Okay,” Sam says quietly, striding through the main lobby with Castiel. “Split up and check the place out for holes in their security. I'll try and figure out which showroom is booked for tomorrow's convention.”

Castiel stops and peers inside Showroom A. “Enochian markings on the wall.”

Sam joins him. “All over?”

“One section. Seems to be surrounding a back room.”

“That might be the Ghost King's green room.” Sam grabs Castiel's elbow and steps inside. “Come on.”

The two keep their arms interlocked as they navigate the massive room, which is filled to the brim with people. One misstep could mean separation. They pass judge after artist after judge. Castiel takes the lead, maneuvering between the patrons toward the section of wall he'd seen earlier. Sam catches pieces of conversation as they pass.

“Oh, looks like you forgot an eyebrow on that figure, oh ho ho! People have two eyebrows, my darling, not one.”

“But it's a symbol of—”

“Bwa ha ha! Brilliant! I love everything about this! I have to ask though—why did you choose to use these awful colors, this horrible canvas, and such a _disfigured_ subject?”

“So you don't like it at all, you just wanted to pretend you liked it enough to make me interested in listening to you?

“Here, honey. Visit my blog.”

“Oh, you're that pretentious jack-ass with no knowledge of pop-culture.”

Sam shivers. The judges remind him of a student aide back at Stanford. “Walk faster,” he implores.

“Fine,” Castiel says. In a flash, the two are at the door connected to the guarded green room.

“Why didn't you do that before?”

“Dean complains when I do that.”

Sam raises his brows. “Right. _Dean._ ” He hates the slant on the word as soon as it leaves his mouth. He knows he should be worried for Dean, not jealous of him. 

Castiel catches it. “What is it?”

Since Sam sees nothing in the area that could pose as a tactical disadvantage (aside from the Enochian, which he technically can't see, but he knows is there), he decides to cave to his curiosity. “Cas, do you like Dean?”

Castiel furrows his brow, dubious of Sam. “Of course I like Dean. He is a friend.”

“No, I mean...” Sam licks his lips and darts his eyes off to the side. “Do you _like_ Dean.”

“Your emphasis on the word is meant to change the meaning.”

“Yes.”

“Is this relevant to finding him?”

Frustration, jealousy, curiosity, and impatience flickers quickly across Sam's face. “No, I just want to know if you have feelings for my brother.”

“I told you before that he and I have a profound bond.”

Sam doesn't remember that, and he thinks that he would. “No you didn't.”

The error dawns on the angel. “I must have said it to Bobby.”

Sam feels heat rush through his neck to his face. “And what do you even mean by 'profound'?”

Castiel seems vaguely uncomfortable. He loosens his tie a mite more than it already is. “You wish to know if I have...romantic feelings for Dean.”

Sam lifts his hands in a gesture. _Get on with it already, Cas._ “Yeah, because you act like you do.” 

There is a delay. Castiel averts Sam's gaze, then replies, “You are correct.”

Sam feels as if a brick hit him the chest. He knows that all logic points to Castiel choosing Dean over him, but it doesn't stop it from hurting. Here he is, freshly tuned into a new aspect of his sexuality, and he's already getting trounced on.

“Any plans on telling him?”

“No,” Castiel says. The weight on Sam's heart lightens a little. “He will laugh.”

Sam wonders if Dean _would_ laugh. The weight returns as he thinks about it. There is a chance that Dean might _not_ laugh. In fact, Sam feels that Dean might just reciprocate the feelings. A sickness sweeps over him; he doesn't want to be caught in a love triangle with his brother—the only family he has left. 

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” Sam finally says.

Castiel's eyes fill with hope. “You believe I should tell him?”

_No._ “Yeah. We have to find him first.” 

“This does not appear to be a problem,” says Castiel, referring to the location. “We should prepare.”

“This place will be crawling with things trying to kill us.”

“I am aware.”

“Yes, but Dean and I usually repeat things like this so that the audience is aware.”

“They can't figure it out on their own?”

“Network television doesn't believe its viewers are that smart.”

“Sam?”

Sam blinks. He feels like he's just come out of a John Dorian dream. “What?”

“We should go.”

“Right.”

* * *

Sam hopes to see Dean when he opens the door the motel room. He hadn't been there since they left that morning to check the evidence at the station. Sam tosses his keys on the nightstand beside his bed and gestures to Dean's. “You can hang out there and watch TV if you want,” he says to Cas.

Castiel relaxes on the sofa instead and picks up the remote. “What am I allowed to watch?”

“News. Cartoons. HBO. I don't care.”

“Are you upset with me?” Castiel looks at Sam with eyes that Sam swears are beady and kitten-like.

“No,” Sam lies.

Cas clicks the TV on. The nightly news plays. The weather woman expresses her dismay at the continuing rainfall. Sam watches Castiel watch the screen. The play of light across the angel's face highlights all of the best features—his lips, his eyes, the shadow on his chin.

Sam can't help himself. He sits on the sofa, Castiel at his left, and feigns interest in the most boring anchor team he's ever watched. “Rain again.”

Castiel looks to his right when their shoulders bump. “We shouldn't drive tomorrow.”

_What am I thinking?_ Sam worries. This should feel differently, but it doesn't, and that puts his body on alert. He becomes ultra-aware of every gentle shift in weight, every subtle touch between their shoulders and their knees and their thighs, every breath inhaled and exhaled, every glance and head tilt. 

The curiosity overwhelms Sam, and he realizes that maybe it's not curiosity at all. Maybe he could have liked Cas from the start had Ruby not been there to push her tantalizing drug.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Cas?”

“Yes,” he says.

Sam’s surprised by the answer. “Anna?”

“No.”

“Another angel?”

“No.”

“Who?”

Castiel pauses. “Meg.”

“Whoa, Meg?” Sam asks in disbelief. “You're kidding, right?”

“You were there.”

“I was?”

“She kissed me.”

“I don't remember.”

“Don't try to. Dean will kill me.”

Sam shakes his head. “Okay, fine. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be nervous about kissing Dean?”

“Yes.”

Sam swallows. “Is that a big deal for angels?”

“Not ones like Raphael.”

“But it is for you.”

“I don't understand this line of questioning, Sam.”

Sam lets out a laugh. “Yeah, me neither.”

“You made it quite clear you didn't want to kiss me earlier.”

“You...” Sam blinks. “Wait, what?”

“That gender is an issue for you,” Castiel expands. “As it probably would be Dean.”

“Well maybe gender isn't an issue for me.”

“Have you ever kissed a male before?”

“Never.”

Castiel refolds his hands in his lap. “I see.”

Sam tries hard to focus on the news, but Castiel keeps side-glancing at him, and he can't help but side-glance back. Suddenly, the dam in his mind breaks, and his unspoken concerns flood his tongue.

“I'm worried it won't be different.”

Castiel looks at him again. “The fear is unfounded.”

“I know. I just—it's a big deal in this country.”

“That seems irrational,” Castiel says, “and I’m an angel.”

“I just met an amazing woman in college, so the wild days never really hit.”

“A 'wild' period is not necessary to be yourself.”

“It's not really me, you know?”

“I do not.”

“Look, all I'm saying is that if I were to do it now, it'd have to be with someone I trusted. That pretty much leaves no one.”

“I will do it,” Castiel says without a moment to think.

Sam notices the speed of the reply. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Practice, for Dean.”

“This feels really tropey.”

“Tropey?”

“It's an annoying word that wanna-be academics toss around.” Sam knows this because he went to Stanford.

“Oh.” Castiel turns to face him more comfortably. “I'm ready.”

Sam's heart rate speeds up. “Okay.” He turns to face Cas and reluctantly closes in.

Castiel puts his hand on Sam's chest just before contact. “If Dean asks about this, what should I say?”

Sam doesn't want to hear him gush about his brother all night. He thinks that the next time he hears Dean's name, it should be because he's been found, alive and well. “I doubt he will even know to ask.”

“I'm ready.”

Sam leans in the extra inch, closes his eyes, and kisses Castiel on the lips.


	4. Chapter 4

You: JACK! JACK!  
Me: What?  
You: Thanks for the link to your index back there. I caught up on everything.  
Me: Oh. I thought we established that this was a lame gimmick I used back on LiveJournal...I mean, Cool!  
You: OH AND I FOUND SOMETHING!  
Me: What?  
You: Eer...well...a blurb about you in a magazine.  
Me: A blurb?  
You: Here. I'll send you the scans and transcribe it in case you can't open the files.  
Me: Okay. Thanks.

* * *

[ ](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/magazine1.jpg) [ ](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/magazine.jpg)

[ Click to view [page 6, full size](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/magazine1.jpg) and [page 47, full size](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/magazine.jpg) ] 

Script Writer's and Writing Magazine

Volume 4, Issue 6

March 2011

6 _Kiss and Tell: Supernatural Goes for Broke_

There are several things wrong with the first kiss between Castiel and Sam Winchester. First, we'll examine the dialogue. Shoddy at best, the dialogue is cheesier than a bag of cheddar puffs, and much messier. Let's examine some key lines from the scene:

Castiel: Have you ever kissed a male before?

Sam: Never.

This setup is typical of amateur writers, and this episode's writer, Jack Velvet, is known for their terrible episodes. In charge of the web-series _Sam's Stanford Adventures_ , Velvet has repeatedly deviated from canon—at one point, even wrote in a long-lost sister, Mary S. Winchester—a sign of disrespect for the source material, and a serious lack of forethought to research the rich mythology of Kripke's universe.

The scene of episode 6x16.5 gets even worse. After Sam and Castiel establish that neither of them have engaged in homosexual activities, Sam suggests they give it a try. Castiel shows no aversion to the idea, something that, even if Castiel were to lean toward that sexual orientation, he would most definitely not be likely to trust Sam with such an endeavor. Throughout the series, Castiel clearly bonds the most with Dean Winchester; at one point, Castiel tells Sam that the bond between he and Dean is “profound.” If the angel were to romantically bond with any Winchester, it would be Dean.

However, it is not just Castiel that is gung-ho about the experiment, but Sam as well. Sam has never shown any homosexual tendencies in canon; Velvet's _Sam's Stanford Adventures_ does not even reflect such an exploration during a time when many young adults bloom into themselves.

The two characters inevitably share an awkward kiss, made easier to watch due to the superb acting abilities of Jared Padalecki and Misha Collins. The kiss is neither deep nor long; it is a simple touching of lips that the actors pull off beautifully. When they part, the dialogue reminds the audience of just how terrible of a writer Velvet is:

Sam: Huh, that didn't seem too different.

Castiel: I don't understand that reference.

Right after that, Sam's cell-phone rings. Rookie Officer Teri Bauer has stumbled upon something predictable: another lead (which ends up falling flat right away—Velvet only shows us the results of this lead via dialogue; we never actually see Sam and Castiel pursue it on screen). The man and angel shrug the event off like nothing happened, and wantonly trust the information of a character that Velvet seems to have thrown in there just to make the episode less of a sausage-fest.

_(Continued on page 47)_

_Script Writer's and Writing Magazine – Vol. 4, Issue 6 – Mar. 2011_

47

_(Continued from page 6)_

A kiss for sweeps doesn't keep the episode afloat. No amount of flawless acting from Padalecki or Collins could save it. There are other grievous errors besides Velvet's writing.

When we first see “The Real Egg,” the camera zooms in on windshield of the Impala. There's not one trace of the rainy weather anywhere on the car, but when we cut to the parking lot, the car is wet. Furthermore, when Castiel re-emerges from the bar, his tie goes from completely undone, to having a very loose knot. Clearly the script supervisor, editor, and everyone else on set—including the actors—were sleeping.

There's more. We see another shot of the Impala slowing to a stop. We can clearly see the reflection of the production crew in the Impala's shiny bumper. We see the crew a second and third time in the windows of the police headquarters. Even worse, when Castiel and Sam head to the warehouse to confront Donna Belladonna, they note that the warehouse is empty, yet we can clearly see the second camera operator and the tip of the boom mic just over Sam's left shoulder.

Overall, this episode was nearly enough to have this reviewer stop watching _Supernatural_ altogether. Surely, I will be avoiding episodes written by Jack Velvet. If the CW doesn't pick it up for a seventh season, I would bet money that Velvet's atrocious writing was the final nail in _Supernatural's_ coffin. 2 out of 10 stars; one star for Collins, and one for Padalecki.

\- J. Welwietta

_J. Welwietta is an award-winning journalist and author working out of New York City. Her crime-novel Jay: Squared debuted at #1 on the Fandom Times Bestselling Books List._

* * *

It's 11 AM and Sam's sipping at coffee. Castiel has a hot chocolate with extra foam. They're standing in a long line at the Main Street Convention Center, surrounded by people of all types. Sam and Castiel assume that most of them are either vampires, lycanthropes, deities in disguise, possessed by demons or spirits, or otherwise. The important thing is that the convention center's staff can't tell them apart from ordinary humans.

Cas worked a ritual earlier that morning that he claimed would hide their identities from the other beings. This, for some reason, required human saliva. Castiel had stuck his finger in Sam's mouth and sensually swirled it around before pulling it out and wiping it on a piece of red ritual paper.

Sam had to do some clever tucking afterward.

The line’s barely moved in the last ten minutes. According to Castiel, they're stuck behind a vampire in a large-brimmed hat and a werewolf in leather pants. Behind them stands a ghoul and his shapeshifter girlfriend. Sam thinks they'd be an adorable couple if they weren't monsters at a hunter-hunting convention.

“I don’t understand why we must stand in a line,” Castiel says.

“Cause that’s how these things work,” Sam says back.

“You and I both know that there are other methods of—”

Sam shushes him. Being ridiculously tall has its advantages, and him spotting commotion ahead happens to be one of them. Two convention guards—no, wait—security specially hired by the hosts of the convention are working their way down the line. They’re pre-inspecting attendees before they even pick up their badges.

“They’re looking for someone,” Sam tells him.

The security draws closer. Sam overhears something about “a tall guy with floppy hair” and “a virgin with a tie.”

“It’s us,” Sam whispers, bending slightly at the knees to mask his height. He places his hand on Castiel’s shoulder for balance, lest he accidentally tumble into the surrounding patrons and cause a scene which would undoubtedly draw more attention than his towering height.

Castiel puts his hand on Sam’s. “It’s okay. I will finish reciting the spell and complete the ritual.”

Sam’s nostrils flare and his eyes open wide. “What?”

Castiel shushes _him_ now, as if saying that he doesn’t need to explain, though Sam definitely thinks he should.

Security approaches and addresses them. They’re twins, guys with brown hair and eyes darker than a demon’s. Sam differentiates between them only by their name tags: one says “L,” and and the other says, “M.”

Security peers at them curiously. Sam thinks they’ve been caught. He telepathically communicates to Castiel, instructing him to finish the damn spell already, but the transmission fails. Castiel simply stares at the men.

“We’re lookin’ for some hunters,” L says.

“And we’re thinkin’ that you two fit the bill,” says M.

The attention of the couple behind Sam and Cas is garnered.

“‘Cause one of ya’ll is tall with floppy hair,” says L.

M picks up Castiel’s ties in his fingers. “And one of ya’ll stands like a virgin, and ya got a tie, ya see?”

Sam hits Cas on the elbow. “Any day now?”

Castiel waves his hand in front of the twins’ faces. “We aren’t the hunters you’re looking for.”

“These aren’t the hunters we’re looking for,” L and M repeat. “Move along.” They move further down the queue.

Sam’s in shock. “Cas, do you realize that you just pulled off the most tried and failed Jedi mind trick in history—”

“There are others?”

“—And it worked?”

Castiel stares forward, inching with the line that also seems to want to move. “You say Jedi, I say Enochian.”

Sam shakes his head. “That's not how the saying goes. It's ‘tomayto, tomahto.’”

“It translates better in Wookie.”

Sam gapes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

_Seriously?_ Sam thinks. “What's next? Is Heaven in a galaxy far, far away?”

Castiel shoots an angry glare in Sam’s direction. “Who told you that?!”

Sam gestures that he’s not the bad guy. “No one. Jeez.”

As the speed of the line picks up, Sam wonders if George Lucas ever had a chat with an angel.

[](http://i767.photobucket.com/albums/xx313/JackVelvet/Redacted/ticket.jpg)


	5. Chapter 5

Me: I hope you have your ticket to the Hunter-Hunting Convention. You: Yup, I got it right [here](http://pics.livejournal.com/jackvelvet/pic/0004qa1e). Me: Good.

_Flashback_

_28 years ago..._

YOU were born. Your mother wanted a girl, but your father wanted a boy. As an intellectual collection of cells, you decide to heed the words of...

( your mother. ) ( your father. )

Drats. Well, one of your parents was likely to be wrong in the end anyway. Maybe things didn’t go as well as you planned either. After all, your birth sucked total ass. You know how gross that process is? It’s not all heavy breathing and pain, there’s a lot of other bodily fluids and solids involved in the whole thing.

Anyway, you were born a woman, so if you thought about being a boy, forget it. If you wanted to be a woman, awesome. Things worked out (that is, aside from the birth). You make a mental note to never get pregnant and put your child through the same traumatic gore-fest you just endured.

Of course, you forget everything that just happened the second the doctor snips that cord.

Are you ready to grow up?

( Yes. ) ( No. ) 

_End Flashback_

Growing up sucked. Part of you wishes that you could be a child forever, but the other part of you is thankful for the independence and the chance to move the narrative of your life forward.

Unfortunately, since you spent too much time reading fan fiction, you forgot to do all of your college coursework, and you failed out of college. No big deal, though. You got a kick-ass job at a convention center. You’ve been waiting for tonight’s convention all year. You did a ton of research on the topic, and despite your coworkers’ claims of you being “off-the-wall bonkers,” you decided that meeting vampires and werewolves and hot demons would be worth it.

Except you haven’t met any of them. Well, maybe you have, but everyone that’s approached your table for a pamphlet on the dangers of ETDs—that’s Ethereally Transmitted Diseases—didn’t so much as bare a pointy tooth at you.

You wish you weren’t born a human. Too bad you were unable to decipher the code hidden in the pre-birth part of your adventure, otherwise the narrative would have worked out that way.

Just as you think about hitting the vending machine up for a snack, you spot two hotties. While you’ve never really made a decision about your sexuality one way or the other, these two have you thinking that you’re straight, at least for this moment. One is tall with brown locks framing his perfectly cut face; you swear there’s nothing but pure muscle beneath that sexy Midwestern-layman attire. The other’s got eyes that are just **so fricken blue** that you think you might melt, and his posture says he can protect you while letting _you_ protect _him_ from all of the confusing things in this little world of yours.

If only you could have them both!

You wonder for a moment what they might look like naked. That turns into you picturing them having sex against the wall right in front of you. You realize that you’re just regurgitating a fan fiction you read back in high school.

Suddenly, they approach your table! Which one do you make eye contact with first?

( Tall hottie. ) ( Blue-eyed hottie. )

You grin like an idiot and end up staring at the space between them. The tall guy gets your attention by tapping on the table. You think about what he could do with those long, beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” he says to you. You love his super-hero voice. “Do you happen to know where the main speaker is?”

( He’s in the green room. ) ( *drool* )

“We’re kind of in a hurry here!” says the blue-eyed one. You snap out of your trance and check your mouth for saliva. Thank goodness you didn’t embarrass yourself further by drooling right in front of them.

“He’s in the green room,” you finally tell them.

The tall one looks disappointed. “Yeah, we already checked there. Is there another green room we’re not aware of, or...?”

He passes the conversational ball to you, and you take it, ready to make a slam-dunk. You think that this could be the con that you finally hook up at—after all, everyone _else_ brags about sleeping with their favorite _voice actor_ , as if measuring themselves simply by the other people they’re around gives them some sort of valuable identity.

( Offer to show them around. ) ( Offer to show them your panties. )

Sam and Castiel walk away from the strange girl at the table, who kept staring at them with googly eyes instead of answering their questions.

“She was...nice,” Sam says, though really he wanted to say “weird,” but he wasn’t sure if they were out of her earshot at that time.

“It’s possible he already escaped.”

They hear a crackle over the room’s speakers. The convention gets quieter as the monsters and other hunter-haters make a polite attempt to listen. Sam thinks it’s rather unusual how _human_ the reaction is.

“Ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and goblins and ghosts and wolves and...vampires. Yes. You’re so trendy right now. We get it. If I may have your attention please.”

Sam, using his superpower of mega-height, spots the source of the voice immediately. He tugs on Castiel’s jacket to direct his attention toward a stage on the opposite side of the room.

Staring straight back at him is a pale man in glasses, with one black glove and extremely slicked, dark hair.

“It’s him,” Castiel whispers.

Sam can’t shake the uneasy feeling he gets from the Ghost King’s grin.

“First off,” the Ghost King continues, “I think we should kick off this convention with a party, don’t you think? Get ourselves nice and fed before the main event? Which, I might remind you, my first lecture today opens with a bit about how to protect yourself from salt and Dead Man’s blood. And after that, we’ll have a segment from a special guest speaker.... _Meg!_ ”

The room erupts into cheers, howls, and joyous “boos.” You know, because some of them are ghosts.

The Ghost King gestures for the room to quiet down. “I know, I know. Her new meat-suit is _to die for_ , oh ho ho ho! She’ll be discussing Devil’s Traps and clever ways to break them. You won’t want to miss it.”

“This is going to be really bad,” Sam whispers.

Castiel grabs onto Sam’s hand. “I’m ready.”

Sam swallows and squeezes back, knowing that it’s just in preparation to teleport the hell out of there.

The Ghost King nods at Sam. “Now, if I may, allow me to direct your attention to the tall lanky could’ve-been-a-Sasquatch-in-a-former-life _human hunter_ over there in the middle of the room, and the lame excuse for an angel brother of mine standing next to him.

The crowd, as if acting like the Red Sea before a seriously twisted Moses, parts to reveal Sam and Castiel. Hisses and menacing growls reach their ears.

“I don’t hunt humans...” Sam mutters.

“He means that you are a human,” Castiel mutters back.

The Ghost King speaks up again. “I present to you _the_ Sam Winchester, and the angel of Thursday—yes, _Thursday_ , as if days of the week even had a name or function when he was created—Castiel! Let’s hear it!”

The hisses and growls raise in volume. Castiel stares hard at the Ghost King. Sam resists the urge to give the crowd a classic nervous wave. Monsters and spirits alike in the crowd shout insults and words of vengeance.

“You killed my brother! You dirty rat!”

“You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“I am your father, Luke!”

Sam looks at Castiel. “I think only one of those quotes was accurate.”

“Silence!” the Ghost King shouts. The room obeys. “Sam, before you get torn to shreds, I just thought you should know that I think your brother has quite a pretty face.”

Sam and Castiel are ready to lunge, but they know better. It’s not worth the hassle.

“If you touch him...” Sam threatens.

“I mean really,” the Ghost King says, ignoring the threat. “Thursday? Castiel, Thursday? How long did it take for that job to become available? Thousands of years? And you think, oh, after thousands of years, of all the jobs you could take from the big guy, you decide to settle on Thursday? You could have had so much more at your disposal. I mean, think of where you’d be career-wise if you’d decided not to be such a lazy lump and actually got a real job up there. Ooh, warrior extra-ordinaire. Big whoop, if you ask me.”

Sam and Castiel exchange “what the fuck?” glances.

“I was busy at the time,” Castiel suddenly defends. “Thursday was all that was left by the time I was able to see the career counselor.”

Sam squeezes Castiel’s hand again, signaling to him that this is getting a bit out of hand and that they should probably teleport _yesterday_.

“But Thursday was _mine!_ ” The Ghost King stomps his foot. “Mine! You _knew_ it was my favorite day of the week once our father decided to make weeks! _You knew_ and you still took it! I would have _gladly_ exchanged my master craftsman title for Thursday!”

Castiel’s nostrils flare. “Where is Dean?”

The Ghost King crosses his arms and purses his lips. “I’m not tellin’.”

“Tell me or die.”

He gestures to the convention with nonchalance. “You’ve met my friends, haven’t you?”

“Cas,” Sam reminds him.

“Point taken,” Castiel says before whisking he and Sam back to the motel room.

Sam looks into Castiel’s eyes, still aware they’re holding hands. He wants to kiss him.

* * *

“Stop,” Sera exclaims from a few seats away.

“Why?” Jack asks. “The fans want to see the action.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s too rushed,” Sera says. “They were what, working together for a day? Two days? Now Sam is suddenly in love with Cass, and Cass is ignoring his feelings for Dean to get into it?”

The writer’s room has its eyes on Jack. _Another showdown,_ they collectively think.

“They’re confused. You know how it is. You’ve never just kissed a friend on accident and ended up making out with them for like, I dunno, an hour or whatever?”

Sera takes a sip of her coffee. The other writers watch her every move, in awe of her unbridled talent. “This is horrible. If you’re going to make something of Cass and Sam, at least do it right.”

Jack taps their fingers on the table. “Fine, what do you suggest then?”

“Don’t give me that attitude. I gave you this job out of the kindness of my heart. Before this, you were writing adult plays for the local theatre. I mean, ‘Sextress’? Really? You got one decent actress in that and the rest were junkies from the meth clinic around the corner.”

“Hey! I wanted to give them a chance to make their lives into something!”

“Just like I gave you this chance. Now are you ready to listen?”

Jack rolls their eyes. “Yes.”

“By the way, that pen name? Pretty lame. A spin on Black Velvet? Do you even drink, or are you just a huge Alannah Myles fan?”

“It’s good glam-rock name,” the writer to Jack’s right says.

“I like the name Jack,” Jack defends.

“So does everyone else out there. How many main characters are named Jack? Jack Harkness, Jack Sheppard, Jack Bauer, Jack Carter.”

One of the writers perks up. “Who’s Jack Carter?”

Sera explains politely. “Eureka? They film in BC too?”

“Do they?” Jack asks.

“I think so. I dunno. Look, here’s my suggestion.” Sera leans forward. “Give them a classic ‘Supernatural’ moment. Jared and Misha can pull it off. Awkward stares, we can see their hands still together, but then they break and decide to pursue some other leads and find Dean.”

Jack furiously hits the backspace key on their laptop. “Hang on a sec. Okay.”

Sera eyes Jack with suspicion. “You didn’t keep any of that?”

“No.”

“The convention part was funny.”

The other writers agree.

“You should really just ‘save as’ on that stuff,” Sera suggests.

Jack throws up their hands. “Okay, I get it. Just hang on.” Jack retypes the pieces of the script involving the convention. “Okay, so they get back to the room...” Jack types some more. “Hold hands, give each other those eyes, then they split up and do more research?”

Sera nods. “Yes. Exactly. It paces the relationship a bit because it gives them both time to reflect on what just happened.”

“Okay, I think I got it.”

Sera checks the clock on the wall. “Okay everyone. I think that’s time for a break. We’ve been at this all night.” She looks at Jack. “Hey, think you can have the rest of that done before the deadline? I have a feeling it’ll need a few more tweaks.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, still furiously typing. “Don’t worry.”

“Go home. Get some sleep.”

Reluctantly, Jack stands, still leaning over the laptop to get that last word in before shutting it down. “Okay. I’m going.”


	6. Chapter 6

Me: Where is everyone?  
Crickets: Chirp chirp. *cough* They've had enough of you talking to yourself in the beginning of each section like a 15-year-old fanfic newbie. *cough* Chirp chirp.  
Me: Oh. See, but I thought if—  
Crickets: Chirp chirp. *cough* If you have to explain the joke, then it ceases to be one. *cough* Chirp chirp.  
Me: You guys are really good at this coughing and talking in unison thing.  
Crickets: Get some friends and stop talking to insects, plzkthx.

* * *

INT. POLICE STATION – DAY

SAM, in his FBI suit, approaches OFFICER TERI'S desk. OFFICER TERI is happy to see him, and prepares to give him some info.

OFFICER TERI

Never heard back on the Belladonna lead.

SAM

Yeah, well... I'm thinking that maybe we should presume that Belladonna's dead. No trace anywhere.

OFFICER TERI

Dead? Why not just missing?

SAM

It's a hunch.

OFFICER TERI

If you don't mind me saying, I don't think we should really be jumping to conclusions.

SAM

Right. Well, this sicko's still out there, and my partner's still gone. Got anything new?

Teri hands him a piece of paper with information jotted on it. Sam looks at it and holds back a smile--he's supposed to be Agent Dana Carvey-Scully.

OFFICER TERI

Kirk T. James, CEO of Ultimate Sound Synergy Enterprises. Office is down on Main.

SAM

Main Street again.

OFFICER TERI

All cities have a Main Street. It's a sure-fire win for accuracy.

Sam glances to the side, that “did we just break the fourth wall again?” look on his face.

SAM

So Kirk T. James?

OFFICER TERI

Yeah.

SAM

Of the USS Enterprises.

OFFICER TERI

Yes.

SAM

You don't see it?

OFFICER TERI

(confused)

See what?

SAM

(muttering)

Set phasers to oblivious.

Officer Teri shrugs it off.

OFFICER TERI

Anyway, he's reputed to be a frequent client of a Gail F. Winds.

The name catches Sam's attention, but he decides not to comment on it.

SAM

Another angel medium?

OFFICER TERI

(smiling)

You got it.

CUT TO:

INT. USS ENTERPRISES OFFICES – LATER

We see a fancy glass door labeled “Kirk T. James, CEO”. We can clearly see that the office is empty.

Next we see the rest of the office floor. It's neat, classy, and we get the sense that the boss around here is a bit anal-retentive. Within clear sight of the CEO's door is a MALE RECEPTIONIST behind a desk. It is obviously his job to take care of visitors on this floor.

A DELIVERY PERSON carrying PIZZA enters. It distracts the Male Receptionist long enough for...

SAM WINCHESTER, still in his FBI suit, to sneak in and gain entrance to the office. The door, to his surprise, is unlocked.

CEO'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Sam searches the office, careful not to make a big mess while occasionally glancing to the door and ducking when other employees' voices are heard outside.

He moves to the desk to check the desk calendar, and then spots something in the chair.

SAM

(to self)

Damn it.

We look down to see a BLACK GLOVE COVERED IN “ECTOPLASM” in the CEO's chair.

CUT TO:

EXT. ALLEY NEAR USS ENTERPRISES - MOMENTS LATER

SAM is approaching the IMPALA while talking on his cell-phone with CASTIEL.

SAM

I let the cops know to come check it out.

CUT TO:

INT. OLD WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS

CASTIEL is searching the warehouse again for more clues.

NOTE: All proceeding shots are continuous cuts between Castiel and Sam during their conversation.

CASTIEL

You snuck into his office when you had a perfectly reasonable cover.

Sam silently acknowledges this discrepancy.

SAM

Yeah, well, how's your search going?

Castiel scours another dark nook.

CASTIEL

Slow. It seems you were right. This may have been his base of operations. I feel as if he's slithering around here somewhere.

SAM

(confused)

How'd we get on Harry Potter?

CASTIEL

Harry who?

SAM

What?

CASTIEL

I said, "Harry who?"

SAM

I wasn't talking about Harry Houdini.

CASTIEL

(offended)

I would never marry a genie!

Sam is uncomfortable. He quickly gets into the car.

SAM

Whoa, no one's talking about burying weenies.

CASTIEL

What are you talking about?

SAM

What're you talking about?

CASTIEL

I was talking about Merk.

SAM

What does that have to do with Slitherin?

CASTIEL

I don't understand what you're saying.

NOTE: We're back to SAM now, inside the IMPALA.

SAM

Same--

Sam checks his phone, a sign that Castiel hung up. He looks to his side, and sees Castiel next to him in the car.

CASTIEL

(dejected)

We'll never find Dean.

Sam puts a hand over Castiel's. 

SAM

We're gonna find him, Cass.

END SCENE

* * *

They’re back at the motel, sitting at the table, looking forlorn. Sam opens up his laptop, still in his dress shirt and pants, though his tie and jacket are missing. His sleeves are wrinkled and rolled up, his brow is creased in worry. Castiel is equally as worried.

“So I was right,” Sam says. “There was more at that warehouse and we blew it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “There wasn’t much when I went back there.”

“But Dean could’ve been there when we _were_ there before,” Sam says, checking his emails. “We’re getting nowhere.”

“Then maybe we should be out looking for him instead of staring into a machine all night.”

Sam glares at Castiel. “I _am_ looking for him. It’s called making sure _your_ psychotic brother didn’t leave town already and capture someone else.”

“We saw him this morning,” Castiel reasons. “It would be impossible for us to know that now.”

“Really, Cas? Because last I checked, you had the ability to teleport anywhere in the world you want to in a flash. What makes you think he can’t do that either?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. “I am aware of the powers that God’s Grace grants us.”

Sam can’t help but be amused by the alliteration. _Or is it consonance? Both?_

“However, you _humans_ are slow to move on these things. Your law enforcement organizations generally wait a day before investigating missing-persons claims.”

“Yeah, well what if it’s a kid?” Sam says, though his stomach stirs the moment he thinks it. “Or like in our case, Dean? Where it’s known right away?”

“It is possible, but not likely.”

Sam shakes his head and returns his attention to his research. “It’s only going to take two seconds to find out. So either you search the planet for a second or shut up and let me do this, okay?”

Castiel vanishes.

Sam didn’t think he would actually do that.

Five minutes pass before the angel returns empty-handed.

“I am unable to locate Dean.”

“Yeah,” Sam half-smirks, defiance trying to weasel its way through his disappointment. “And in the meantime I checked the internet, and my email, and I paid our cell-phone bills.”

“My phone is pre-paid,” Castiel says.

_Oh right, he has a cell-phone,_ Sam remembers. “No, not yours and mine,” he corrects him. “Mine and Dean’s.” 

“You said ‘our’ without a proper context.”

“What?”

“I don’t understand your confusion.”

“Actually, the context comes from the fact that the only person’s cell-phone I would be able to pay for is Dean’s. It’s called logic? Common sense? You’ve heard of that, right?”

“This is no time to lay your meta on me!” Castiel says.

“I don’t think you’re using that word right.”

“It means commentary!”

“I’m not giving you commentary, I’m giving you attitude,” Sam argues. He brings up a window on his laptop. “Besides, according to this dictionary, ‘meta’ is an adjective that means...” His voice deepens the way it does when he’s laying out the facts of a job for Dean. “‘Of a creative work, referring to itself or to the conventions of its genre; self referential.’ And ‘conventions’ kind of implies a tradition, you know, a standard? So that’s not exactly commentary. It’s more of an analysis of what’s already there, not an analysis of subtext or even a speculation on meaning. And if I remember correctly, it’s usually used more with parodies.”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel says. “It seems that meta is a form of commentary.”

“Yeah, I guess, but what I’m saying is that sometimes people just use the word because they think it sounds cool, when really they should just be saying that whatever they’re blogging about is actually just a rant or an opinion. It’s not a meta.”

“Well, not according to _your_ dictionary,” Castiel mutters.

“What?”

“Now I understand why your brother mocks you,” Castiel states.

“Cas, this is really out of character for you.”

“This is the aspect of my character required for the situation!”

Sam tosses his hands up in frustration. “What situation? You’re pissed that Dean’s gone, so you’re taking it out on me because _you_ can’t fix it? Well guess what? I’m pissed too, okay? You think I like knowing that some crazy, eccentric fallen angel who managed to keep his powers somehow has Dean holed up in a room somewhere? You think I like thinking about losing my brother?”

“Of course I don’t!”

Sam stands. “Okay. You know what?” He grabs the keys to the car. “I’m going back to the warehouse. Then I’m going back to the police station. And I’m going to retrace every damn step we’ve taken since we’ve gotten here, okay?”

Castiel grabs Sam’s elbow. “Wait.”

Sam glances down at the hand on his arm. “For what?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Sam tries to tug himself free, but Castiel won’t let go. “No. Forget it. I’m sick of hearing you complain about how slow us ‘humans’ are. You’re just a pompous jerk. I get it. You’re an angel. I’m not. I’m dealing with it.”

Castiel’s face softens, as does his grip. “I apologize, Sam.”

Sam looks at Castiel’s hand on his arm again. He thinks perhaps that he’d taken out some of his frustrations on him too. “Yeah,” he says, relaxing his arm. “I’m sorry too.” He plays with the keys in his hand. “Car or...?”

Castiel meets his eyes. “There’s no journey with instant teleportation.”

Sam smiles. “Kinda profound.”

“I meant that important details might be overlooked. We may see a lead walking down the road that we would otherwise miss.”

Sam lets out a little laugh. “I know...just...” He realizes that they’re flirting a bit, and remembers the brief kiss they shared.

He also notices that Castiel’s thumb is gently stroking the skin of his arm. He looks back at Cas, but Castiel avoids his look for a moment, and the stroking stops. Sam assumes it must have been an absent-minded move.

Out of the blue, Castiel says, “Dean would have carried this on longer.”

“What, the fight?” Sam asks.

“Yes. He wants you to know how horrible you are until you can’t bear it.”

Sam hates talking about Dean like this when Dean’s being held captive. Talking about Dean with the angel that’s in love with Dean that Sam’s not sure if Dean loves back. Talking about Dean with the angel that’s in love with Dean that Sam also kind of feels like he wants to kiss. Sam feels...shady. After a hard swallow, he remarks, “Yeah, but he’s usually right.”

Castiel looks him dead in the eyes. “Yes, but you were right too.”

Sam knows what’s going to happen if he leaves another moment of silence suspended in the short space between them, because they’ve both had a realization—Sam can see it in Castiel’s eyes—and that realization could seriously betray Dean. His captive brother.

But Sam’s pretty sure that Castiel is up for kissing him again.

That extra second hangs before their eyelids fall and their mouths close in to each other. Sam panics a little—his heart beats rapidly and his stomach feels a bit sick, but it settles and he makes the (idiotic) move to actually press further into the kiss, and Castiel follows too. Hands gently descend upon cheeks as they learn the curvature of each other’s tongues, the way they taste.

They pull apart for a moment, but not by much. They know that what they’re doing is wrong—that they should be looking for Dean instead of kissing each other—but they know by the way their eyes keep darting back down to their lips that they’re not going to stop themselves from kissing again.

Sam’s cell rings in his pocket. It jolts him out of the moment. He scrambles to dig in his pockets, but his proximity to Castiel doesn’t change. He speaks in quick tones, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of Castiel’s mouth on his own. Castiel is thinking the same thing, but he’s got that curious look on his face that begs Sam to tell him just who exactly is calling.

“Hello?” Sam answers.

“ _Sammy!”_

“Dean!”

Castiel’s eyes go wide. “Dean?”

“ _Why are you panting?”_

“What?” Sam gives Castiel a guilty glance. “I’m not—where are you?”

“ _In some friggin’ compound off in the friggin’ boonies!”_

“What do you remember? Did you overhear anything? What did you smell? How long did it take them to get you there?”

“ _Okay, first of all, do you have a chick there or...you know, are you takin’ matters into your own hand or somethin’?”_

Sam’s nostrils curl. “No!”

“ _Dude, I’m just sayin’—you sound a bit winded.”_

_But we didn’t even get to the make-out phase_ , Sam thinks. “Did they hurt you?” 

“ _Do I sound hurt?”_

“I dunno, you could be under duress or something!”

“ _Sammy, I’m fine.”_

Sam relaxes a little.

“ _This guy’s a little weird, but I managed to get my hands on one of the goon’s phones. So will you shut up and listen?”_

“What’s he saying?” Castiel asks.

“He’s fine,” Sam says quickly. He returns to Dean. “I was listening. You’re trying to find out what I’m doing.”

“ _Well that pretty much tells me you were doin’ somethin’.”_

“Dean—where. Are. You.”

“ _I’m. In. A. Bay-s’ment.”_

“Okay, where?”

“ _We went east on the highway, took the fifth exit down, turned into a cattle ranch with this weird painted ad for farm-fresh milk.”_

“Wait, you were driven there?”

“ _You realize you assumed that the second you started askin’ me for details.”_

“I did?”

Dean sighs. _“Just listen. They’re leavin’ tomorrow at exactly eight thirty. No joke, this wacko’s a fan of bein’ punctual. It’s just gonna be me and the guard.”_

“How’re you so sure?”

“ _It doesn’t matter.”_

“So you have no idea how many people are gonna be there?”

“ _I just told you, Sam! Me and the guard!”_

“Can Cas get in?”

“ _No, they’ve got sigils painted all over the place.”_

Castiel extends his hand for the phone. Sam doesn’t hand it over.

“That explains why we haven’t been able to find you,” Sam says.

“ _Well you and Bobby can break the symbols—”_

“Bobby? It’s just me and Cas.”

“ _Where’s Bobby?”_

“Uh, at home?”

“ _You mean I was kidnapped by a friggin’ psycho angel with a thing for chokin’ his own chicken, and you don’t call Bobby as your first order of business?”_

Sam’s face heats up. “Well, I did initially, to—you know—establish our cover better, but...uh, no.”

“ _Why the hell not?”_

“Because, I guess I thought Cas would be enough?”

“ _Oh, Cas and that war he’s fightin’. Didn’t you go to college?”_

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

“I want to talk to him,” Castiel says, folding his fingers into his palm repeatedly.

“ _Fine, whatever,”_ Dean says. _“Just make sure you’re here then. Don’t come earlier. He’s got all sorts of freaks hanging out here.”_

“So how do you know all this?”

“ _I just do.”_

“The same way you got the phone?”

“ _You don’t wanna know, okay?”_

“Oh god.” Sam recoils a bit. “You didn’t, uh, you know...are you okay, man?”

“ _You seriously think I just let myself be some guy’s bitch to make a phone call, don’t you.”_

“Well, what else wouldn’t I wanna know?”

“ _Sammy, it’s not important.”_

“Dean, if this guy just—”

“ _Wait, who said it was a guy?”_

“It’s the guard, right?”

“ _I never said he was a guy.”_

“But there you did.”

“ _I did?”_

“You did.”

“ _Whatever.”_

“So you didn’t have to, you know, do stuff to make a phone call.”

“ _Well I had to do stuff.”_

Sam’s anger flares. “What ‘stuff,’ Dean?”

“ _Calm down.”_

“What did that bastard do to you?”

Now Castiel is angry. “Give me the phone, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “Dean, what did he do.”

“ _Calm the hell down, I said! Look...it’s fine, okay? I just had to...role-play a little bit.”_

Sam’s gonna shank a bitch. “I’m gonna cut his dick off.”

“ _Whoa whoa whoa. No need to go all Lorena Bobbitt on the guy.”_

“Dean, we’re talking about r—”

“ _Don’t say it! Jesus, Sam. It wasn’t that at all. He just said that I sounded like...this guy. From this movie.”_

Sam no longer cares to phrase his questions as questions. “What movie.”

“ _Some Batman movie.”_

“Tell me he didn’t dress you up.”

“ _No—god, Sam. Drop it. I did not have sexual relations with that guard.”_

Sam wonders why Dean pulled the Clinton line if nothing sexual happened. “What happened.”

Castiel is equally as flustered.

“ _All I had to do was record him a new voicemail thing, okay?”_

Sam tilts his head. “What?”

“ _He just wanted me to say some line for his new voicemail message to callers. That’s it.”_

“Why’d you phrase it like he r—”

“ _Sam, you’re the one freakin’ out. I’m fine, okay? Just been waitin’ for a chance like this to call you.”_

“So if it’s just gonna be you and the guard, why can’t you just beat the hell outta him and run away?”

“ _Uh, first, he’s a werewolf_ and _a vampire. Yeah. How messed up is that? What kinda vampire decides to take a drink from a dog thing? I mean, I had that hair in my beer last week and couldn’t stop feelin’ like I had to gag. Second,_ you’re my frigging brother, _Sammy. Of course I’m gonna call you!”_

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have come to get you!”

Dean laughs. _“Yeah, I know. Just wanted to bust your balls a bit.”_ A sigh. _“So Cas is there? Is he freakin’ out?”_

Sam looks at Castiel, who is indeed freaking out. “Yeah.”

“ _That’s hilarious.”_

Sam’s offended on Castiel’s behalf. “That’s not really that funny. I mean, uh, considering...” He winces when he realizes he’s just brought _that_ up with Dean _after_ he totally Frenched Cas. 

“ _Considering what?”_

Sam knows that Dean’s tone is meant to challenge him. “Er, nothing.”

Suddenly, Castiel grabs the phone from Sam’s hands. “Where are you?” A pause. He looks down at the phone, then up at Sam, perplexed. “Dean.”

Sam can hear Dean through the earpiece when Castiel holds it away from his face.

“I can’t hear him, Sam,” Castiel says, frustrated.

Sam swipes it back. “Dean?”

“ _Was that Cas?”_

“Yeah, he can’t hear you.”

“ _There’s some angel crap scribbled on the back of this phone. Oh, and the dude’s got a sigil set as his wallpaper.”_

Sam grins. _Kinda smart, actually._ “That makes sense.” 

“ _He’s upset, ain’t he?”_

Castiel glowers at Sam.

“Yeah.”

“ _So eight thirty. Red sign for milk. Basement. Me and one vampire-werewolf guard. You got that, Sammy?”_

“Got it.”

“ _Good. Don’t be late.”_

“Right.”

“ _Cool.”_

Sam wants to say something heartfelt, but knows better. “See ya.”

He hangs up.

Castiel wants to light Sam on fire. “What did he say?”

“He’s fine, he’s not hurt,” Sam assures him. “We just gotta be at the location at exactly eight thirty tomorrow to bust him out. Place is covered in sigils, but I can break ‘em as long as you drop me off in the right place. We’ll park the car somewhere close and then it’s all you from there.”

Relief hardly overcomes Castiel. “Or we could go right now.”

Sam decides to sit down and tell him why that exact idea is extremely awful.


	7. Chapter 7

*** * * * !! IMPORTANT !! * * * * It is _very_ important that you view this fic with the "Creator’s Style"! Please re-enable this option if it is turned off by clicking "Show Creator’s Style" at the top of the page. If you don’t, you risk losing a special feature of this chapter! Thank you!**

* * *

It’s nearing midnight, and Sam’s just finished watching the monologue of some comedian on one of those late night shows. He’d already prepared the guns with silver bullets, and Castiel went out and snagged some Dead-Man’s Blood to dip them in. The only task left is to wait.

Sam knows he _should_ sleep, but the anticipation of rescuing his brother and trying to be patient keeps him awake. That and the coffee Castiel somehow acquired for them.

Sam’s not sure how Cas is able to consume without having to...well, he always stops at that point, because something about angels pooping makes him giggle a little bit on the inside. He figures that angels just have such a crazy metabolism that they can just use fusion power or _something_ and convert everything into pure grace.

_Or something._

It’s dark in the room. Cas is at the table, and Sam is on the couch. Castiel’s face is dimly lit by Sam’s laptop, while Sam’s is lit by the TV. Sam looks over to Cas, wondering if the angel is haphazardly downloading viruses to his computer, or if angels have some power to cure digital viruses too.

He worries that Castiel is going to pull a Dean.

“What’re you looking at?” he asks.

“The Holy Word,” Castiel replies.

Sam arches a brow. “You’re reading the Bible online?”

Castiel’s eyes move slowly over to Sam. “This is not the Bible.”

Sam slings an arm over the back of the cushions. It makes twisting to talk to Cas much easier. “So what, you’re reading...?”

“You remember Chuck.”

Sam rolls his eyes and gets up to look over Castiel’s shoulder. “Not that stuff again. There’s no way he could’ve published more.”

Sam notices that Castiel tilts the computer away from him. He thinks it’s rather odd behavior. He gets closer to look at what Castiel is actually reading.

“It is his work,” Castiel says, angling the screen downward so Sam can’t see. This has Castiel slumping in his seat so that only _he_ can still see.

Sam pulls his chair over closer to see the screen. “I thought he was airlifted to Heaven?”

“Some say he was God.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he was just airlifted, you know.” Sam grabs the sides of his laptop and opens it so that _everyone_ can see. “To get a prime seat, or whatever.”

“The symbolism was misleading.”

Sam shakes his head. “Uh, not really.” He shrugs and scans the screen.

It’s the Holy Word, alright. And it’s been written by one chuck_edlund4E and posted online at  community.LiveFaceSpaceDeadInsaneDreamJournalTumblingBlogPress.com/supernatural_fic.

“How did you find this?” Sam asks Castiel. “Better yet, why would you look for this? I thought you were just going to watch cats playing pianos or that Rebecca Black video all night?”

“Your software told me it needed to update for ‘security purposes,’ and I didn’t know what to do once it restarted.”

“So you surfed the web.”

Castiel gives a light shrug.

Sam checks out the very top of the web page and mumbles to himself as he reads it. “Title...a love story, okay, that’s a pretty lame title...author, Chuck Edlund Forever....Word Count, question mark?” He turns to Cas. “So what, these are just the story’s statistics?”

Castiel blushes and points to a link on the screen. “That puts you to the part of the page where the Holy Word begins.”

“So you’re excited because God’s started talking again.” Sam looks back at the screen, deciding to skip the novel-length list of events found within the story and clicks on the link.

He clears his throat when he sees his name in the first sentence. “‘It’s nearing midnight, and Sam’s just finished watching the monologue of some comedian on one of those late night shows.’” Sam pauses. “That just happened.”

Castiel nods.

Sam continues, all the while feeling completely creeped out. “‘Sam knows he _should_ sleep, but the anticipation of rescuing his brother and trying to be patient keeps him awake. That and the coffee Castiel somehow acquired for them.’”

“That just happened,” Castiel repeats.

“This is what...a couple of chapters in?” Sam’s voice cracks on the last word. “Why is it written in present tense?”

“I assume it’s a stylistic choice,” Castiel attempts to explain. “That it keeps the reader more engaged and in the moment.”

Sam gives him a look. “I know why people use it. I just think it’s kind of...silly. It’s like...a cop-out, you know? Seems a bit more like you’re telling and not showing, and because it’s so fast paced, you just kinda—really. And why use it for such a long story? I mean, do all these internet writers use this tense? How unique is that?”

Castiel looks at me. “This is the Holy Word of God as shown to us by Chuck, not some internet writer.”

“So what, how far were you into this? Did you see us rescue Dean?”

Castiel swallows loudly. Sam wonders if it’s because they don’t rescue Dean (but he thinks Cas might have mentioned that sooner) or due to their current proximity.

“It hasn’t been updated to include that.”

Sam swears Castiel is withholding a lot of information. So he scrolls down to the last three-quarters of the page and starts reading. “‘Sam wonders what Castiel is doing to his laptop, so he sits beside him. Castiel, nervous that Sam’s about to find out what he’s _really_ been reading’—wait, he italicized ‘really’?”

Castiel doesn’t make eye contact.

Sam begrudgingly takes another breath and continues reading another paragraph. “‘It’s then that they both realize things have been awkward since’—Cas, this story is about us.”

“I know.”

“This is not about Dean.”

“I don’t believe it is. He seems to be a flimsy plot device just to–”

“Plot device?” Sam asks. “You’re talking like God has plans. I thought Chuck just...you know, detailed this stuff for future generations. Like a holy historian.”

Castiel reminds himself that Sam doesn’t really see the world the same way that multi-dimensional wavelengths of celestial intent do.

“So, uh...” Sam starts, closing the laptop. The room darkens. “Are you, ya know. Feeling awkward since we...?” He can hardly see Castiel now, but he can _feel_ him, only inches away.

“It’s a complex situation,” Castiel admits. “I’d not imagined you and I would...”

“Kiss?” Sam finishes.

“Sorry,” Castiel says. “Dean is very...vocal about not being vocal.”

Sam laughs. “Tell me about it.”

“It was nothing,” Castiel says, his tone changing from certain to definitely uncertain. “Wasn’t it?”

It hurts Sam to think of that, but he knows that maybe he should at least try to believe it. “Yeah, I mean...Dean.”

“We shouldn’t be...engaging in these activities. Especially while he’s still captive.”

Sam feels himself leaning over, so he stops. “It’s pretty easy to...uh...” And he notices he’s trying to censor himself, but the mere mention of Dean puts him into the pattern of withholding “all that touchy feely” talk. _Take comfort in another person_ , he finishes.

Castiel reopens the laptop. “I will resume.”

Sam takes the hint and stands. “I’ll be on the sofa.”

* * *

Sam doesn’t like the sofa so much. He’s not tired, but he’s damn lonely. An entire hour’s passed since Sam and Castiel last spoke about the laptop and the weird story and the kiss. The wait gets to him.

“You know that’s mobile, right?” Sam says to Castiel, referring to the laptop.

Castiel says nothing. He unplugs the laptop from the wall, picks it up, and moves to Sam’s side on the sofa.

Sam checks the screen once Castiel reopens the laptop on the coffee table. He notices something odd.

Castiel hasn’t been using the laptop.

“What have you been doing for the last hour?” Sam asks.

Castiel looks beyond the television. “Thinking.”

“Well, Dean’s obviously hidden from you, but it’s just gonna be him and one vampire-werewolf guard...so I’ll lure him out, you can take care of him, and I’ll go back to get Dean.”

“We’ve already discussed that. My imagined simulations of the plan ran smoothly.”

 _Imagined simulations?_ Sam shakes his head. “Oh.” He doesn’t press further. He just leans back into the sofa, tries to relax (he can’t), and watches whatever crappy movie is still playing. Sam figures there’s a reason that it’s playing in the middle of the night.

“You should try and sleep,” Castiel suggests.

Sam fights a yawn. “Can’t. I mean, I’m tired, but...you know how it is.”

Castiel clearly doesn’t.

“Well, anyway, I figure if I can keep my mind off of it, maybe I can get an hour or two in.”

“I could put you to sleep.”

Sam gives him a dubious glance. “Uh, no thanks.”

“The offer remains.”

Sam briefly considers resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder. _One, you’re too tall, and it’ll be awkward. Two, you’re not doing this whole “you and Cas” thing._

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“This movie’s boring.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah.” He passes him the remote. “There’s like...a bunch of channels, and what isn’t news is an infomercial. Or this movie.”

Castiel stumbles upon the weather station and leaves it on. “I can’t see the scope of these patterns when I’m not in Heaven.”

“So this is like, what, checking the scores for you?”

Castiel doesn’t understand the reference.

“We could watch stuff on my computer.”

Castiel turns to him and looks him straight in the eye. “I was thinking about you.”

Sam gulps air. “Oh.”

It’s not long before their eyes and lips lock together again, despite Sam’s pleas with himself to be considerate of Dean’s mysterious feelings.

But then something else happens. Castiel is pressing up against him, and Sam is pressing up against Castiel, and there’s something very noticeable and physical between them.

Sam doesn’t quite remember when they shifted to a more horizontal position. All he knows is that he’s whispering Castiel’s name, and Castiel’s whispering back. He’s helping Castiel out of that trench coat, and undoing that tie and those buttons. Castiel’s tugging on the hem of Sam’s shirt, sloppy, needy, somewhat juvenile but aware of what the end game is.

Sam rubs his up against Castiel’s . Castiel back, into the motion. Castiel as Sam’s removes his , revealing a , , . He spreads his to slide his in between the of , but the friction of the is too much, so he Castiel’s too.

Sam’s surprised at the of Castiel’s . It him to the brink of . He props himself back into , and puts his into his , making it with .

Sam’s wonders , and if will . It doesn’t . He wraps his around Castiel’s and in somewhat .

Castiel covers Sam’s in , moist of . “Is this ?” he asks, nerves from , and , it’s his .

“Yes,” Sam answers.

The of Sam’s is , , a of on the . Castiel moves his to meet , and Sam lets out a of with every .

There’s on their skin, and they . All the know is , and it makes them with .

Sam wants to know if Castiel is .

Their noses touch for a moment, before their interlock again.

Sam whispers, “?”

Castiel nods.

Sam reaches for his and . He knows this may , and he wants it to be as for as . Castiel twitches once Sam the .

Their eyes meet again, their lips touching with tender before they breech that final .

Sam into him, over and and with fierce .

Castiel up into the , , into the heated of Sam’s . A steady of , sending a through Castiel’s .

“,” Sam .

“Sam...” Castiel back.

Castiel Sam’s , a hard . Sam faster, as does Castiel, their both with , with .

Sam into Castiel’s . Castiel quickly, arching with a , biting Sam’s , leaving little of along Sam’s .

This --- between them reaches a . Castiel in , of on his .

Sam , - .

They collapse into each others chests, out of breath, leaving sweet on each other’s clavicles before finally coming to a complete rest.

“Sam,” Castiel utters, at a lack for anything else to say.

Sam doesn’t know what to say either. All he knows is that he just Castiel, and in a few hours, they have to rescue Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

Reply to your entry...

**From:** angelsarentdicks142  <notifications@LiveFaceSpaceDeadInsaneDreamJournalTumblingBlogPress.com>

**To:** chuck_edlund4E  <not_ur_average_prophet@heaven.hvn>

angelsarentdicks142 replied to your post in which you said:

A Love Story by chuck_edlund4E

**Disclaimer:** The Supernatural book series isn’t mine...because if it were, it wouldn’t be all destiny-like. You should blame the “muse.” I’m not kidding.

**Warnings:** Sex, swearing, mentions of violence

**Rating:** I dunno...M? It’s kind of soft-core. Not sure why the..uh...muse made me want to write it.

**Note:** This is chapter 8.

(Notice from LiveFaceSpaceDeadInsaneDreamJournalTumblingBlogPress.com: You may view the rest of your original post  here.)

Their reply was:

OMG. What’s wirong with you ??? You could’ve said this was guy/guy sex!! I can’t believe u didn’t warn for that!! Your sick! And between an angel who is one ofGODS CREATURES you cant just do that!!

God, I’m scarred for life!!! So obseen! U turned a safe place into a nitemare!!

Fuck off!!

( Reply at the Entry ) ( Delete Email )

You decide to reply to their comment. You write:

Hello. I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the latest chapter. Here’s a few things I hope you might take responsibility for:

1) The beginning of the story states that Sam Winchester will be paired with a male OC, Castiel;

2) The title of the story implies that Sam Winchester will fall for this male OC (to remind you of that title, it is A Love Story);

3) There is a warning for soft-core sex in the header;

4) The story has always been rated “M,” which stands for “Mature,” and pretty much means that only “mature” readers capable of handling “mature” subject matter—whatever that subject matter may be—may read it;

5) Sam and Castiel have already kissed at least twice before this chapter. You made it eight chapters in before realizing you don’t like the idea of angels and humans consorting, let alone two males? You also realize that it’s been established in my prior fics of this universe that it is only Castiel’s vessel that is truly male, correct? You know that angels and demons can inhabit whatever meat-suit they choose (well, in my ‘verse, the angels only _sort of_ have a choice, but it’s not ever based on their presumed multi-dimensional gender—both Raphael and Castiel have both inhabited female vessels without issue). The idea of gender seems to be in _your_ mind.

You’re welcome to accept a portion of the responsibility for your “scarring.” It is not my duty to go above and beyond the measures set forth by the site, but I do anyway, and that’s still not enough for you?

How about this: I’ll rewrite the entire scene and take out all the “obscene” parts. That way you won’t have to worry about warnings, and you can continue to live in your little bubble. I’ll also renounce my status as a writer and an artist, and afterward, I’ll stop writing altogether and spread your message of heterosexual-power and anti-blasphemy around the world. All so _you_ don’t have to take responsibility for your own “safety.”

Much love,  
Chuck

P.S. No one forced you to read anything, just like no one forced you to attack me. Who’s the real bad guy here?

( Continue )

You choose to delete the email.

God looks at you, but you can’t really tell because His face is totally blocked out by that blinding, radiant light that is His essence. You just sort of _know_ that’s what’s happening. You figure that that talking like this is better than the stabbing migraines you used to get, because talking to him before was more like him using you as his vessel, well, at least that’s how you explained it in the final story of the Apocalypse. To this day you aren’t sure whether you were possessed by God, were God, or whatever, because you still have a heck of a time figuring out how The Father and The Son and The Holy Spirit are technically all the same entity.

“Don’t look at me,” He says. “I made humanity on a dare.” He laughs. “Ahh, college.”

You look at God again, wishing you had a pair of sunglass—God-glasses, whatever—and say, “Eer, right. So what happens to them next?”

God shrugs, or so you think. “I dunno. You have to wrap up the part with that pesky child of mine, Merka...who can even pronounce that? Wasn’t my choice to give him that name—you know he changed it, right? How disrespectful. As if _I_ hadn’t bestowed upon him a good name. Anyway, they’re probably going to be successful with rescuing Dean, but your readers might want some sort of resolution to that.”

You’re confused. “...I thought I wrote what’s going to happen.”

“Well, I’m just really good at making predictions. After tens of thousands of years studying humans, you kind of get a sense for how they’re going to react.”

“So we don’t know if they actually will win against Merk or not.”

“I just figure that they will. They always win, even if it comes with a heavy loss. Look at what Merk’s up against. The Winchesters and Castiel—by the way, that boy is in _so_ much trouble...”

“Cas? Why?”

“I’ll tell ya later.”

You make a mental note of His statement.

“Point is,” He continues, “they’re going to win. So just write the battle sort of vague, and make them win in the end.”

“And what about that triangle between Castiel and the Winchesters?”

God shrugs. “I’ll get back to you on that. Right now we’re at a point where you might have to explain the difference between free will and fate. To discuss _that_ alongside a coming-out story?” God makes a short gesture with His hand. “I’m not touching that with a ten-cubit pole. Anyway, you want a coffee?”

Coffee sounds pretty good right now. “Eer, sure?”

God snaps His fingers. Coffee appears before you. “Alright. I’m going to go play some Halo—”

“As in the video game, not that game where we set up stakes in the ground and toss halos instead of horseshoes, right?”

“The video game. Yes. Can’t get online though...I guess Xbox Live is down again for updates...Sometimes I wish I hadn’t made a vow to meddle less. I’ll just have to ask Joshua if he wants in on a round.” God laughs, which rumbles your coffee cup enough to make it nearly spill over. “See ya.”

You give Him a polite wave and sip your immaculate coffee. You look back at your laptop and wonder if you should _really_ write some actual, fictional fan fiction. Besides, you caught God watching that Rebecca Black video again, and that you gave you one hell—eer, heck—of an idea.

( Continue )

It’s 7:03 in the morning when Sam wakes up naked on the sofa, a blanket draped over his body and a pillow wedged beneath his head. He slowly sits up, letting the blanket fall to his waist, and looks around for Castiel.

The angel’s not there.

The TV is still on, its volume soft. Sam notices a cartoon from his childhood playing and smiles.

Castiel suddenly appears with a bag of what Sam assumes is breakfast and two coffees in a carry tray. He sets them down on the coffee table and takes a seat next to the pool of blankets on the sofa.

“Hey,” Sam says, looking at all of the clothing Castiel’s wearing while remembering what’s beneath them.

“You should eat. We need to leave soon.”

Sam digs in. Castiel picked him up a bagel, some fast-food hash browns, a super-sweet apple-pie pocket, a breakfast sandwich made on a croissant, and an apple. “Did you buy all of this?”

“No.”

“So you just walked into a restaurant and lifted it?”

Castiel shrugs.

Sam still feels a bit sticky from what they did hours earlier. He takes a bite from the bagel, chews, swallows, then says, “Can you uh...do that thing you do that cleans people? No time to shower or anything.”

Castiel puts two fingers to Sam’s forehead. Sam’s skin instantly feels better, and the morning breath on his tongue disappears.

“Thanks.”

Castiel watches Sam eat. “I would do anything for you two.”

“Even breakfast?” Sam jokes.

“On a grander scale. Breakfast is...when I have time available.”

Sam lets out a quick laugh. “Yeah, I know.” He looks at Castiel’s coffee. “You don’t really need to drink that, right?”

“No. It just reminds me of when I was nearly human.”

“A little reminder never hurts.”

“For all the pain we suffered, I treasure the memory.”

Between bites, Sam asks, “What about now? What’s going to remind you of this?”

“For the moment, I’m not sure what won’t.”

_That’s how firsts are,_ Sam thinks. “You feel different?”

“Cheated.”

Sam nearly chokes. “Cheated?”

Castiel sighs before explaining. “This war is, and has been, difficult. To know I could have shared that with...”

Sam knows why Castiel stopped. It causes his esophagus to tighten around the chewed bagel he’d just swallowed.

“...Before this. Before it came to what it is. I should have disobeyed sooner. Like Anna. Like Gabriel. Like Balthazar.”

Sam loses his appetite. He felt a connection with Castiel when they made love— _No, I guess it was just sex_ —and Sam hoped then (as he does now) that Castiel might have felt the same way.

Sam sets down the bagel and takes a healthy swig of his coffee—a regrettable mistake due to its temperature—in order to force the lump in his chest into his stomach.

“Did what we do mean anything to you?” Sam asks, tightening the blanket around his waist.

Castiel gives Sam a guilty look. “You misunderstand—”

“You would’ve rather been with Dean.”

“Sam—”

“You still think that, even now.” Sam stands, holding the blanket tight to his waist, and continues before Castiel can get a word in. “You know, this was a first for me too.”

Castiel stands and says nothing.

“Let’s just go,” Sam says, picking up his bag. He walks to the bathroom, the blanket dragging behind him, and shuts the door to get dressed in private.

* * *

Sam parks the car about a mile away from where the internet map laid out Dean’s location, and Castiel teleports them to a patch of woods just outside the farm’s perimeter. Manure and fresh-cut grass invades their noses, and the gentle moos of cows pervade in the air.

From their vantage point, they can see a caravan of three cars, all black, all new, all too shiny to be a work vehicle. Sam wonders if Merk just invaded and killed everyone, and then wonders if anyone is keeping up with the animals.

It’s getting closer and closer to the destined time, and Sam notices that Dean was right—Merk’s a punctual guy—but there’s something that’s not really jiving with him.

“This is probably a trap,” Castiel says.

Which is what Sam was thinking.

But then a bunch of guys pile into the cars. The first vehicle in the line drives away, then the second, then the third.

“Where’s Merk?” Sam asks, tired of saying “the Ghost King” all the time.

“The vehicles are not marked.”

“So what you’re saying is that we didn’t see him get in the cars, and you didn’t sense him already inside one of them.”

“Yes.”

Sam grabs Castiel’s shoulder. “Come on. Get me as close as you can to the barrier and let me break it.”

“He could be inside.”

“Yeah, and Dean actually _is_.”

Castiel stays put, reluctant to enter. “It hasn’t occurred to you that Raphael may have recruited Merk to fight for his side.”

Sam looks left and right, impatience rising. “Uh no, Cas. It hasn’t.”

“I understand that you’re angry with me, Sam, but if this has all been a part of something bigger—”

Sam grips Castiel’s other shoulder and stares him down. “Cas, this whole thing has been messed up. I mean, just _look_ at this whole situation! It’s ridiculous! And not just regular, ‘oh, we’re hunters and you’re an angel’ ridiculous, I mean fourth-wall breaking, teenager-just-got-their-hands-on-their-first-computer, over-the-top ridiculous. I’m surprised someone hasn’t snuck up on us and beat us with a rubber chicken.”

“Simply because the situation is lacking any sort of sense, shape, or form, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t exercise caution,” Castiel reasons.

“Dean is waiting for us, Cas!”

“And you want me to admit again that I would jump to his rescue at the drop of a dime?”

“Right now? Yeah!”

Castiel’s nostrils flare as he slaps his hands down hard on Sam’s shoulders; for a moment Sam really thinks he’s in for a good smiting.

“ _You_ asked me how I felt about Dean,” Castiel utters. “You never asked me how I felt about _you_.”

They’re at the end of a hall now, standing before a basement door covered in fancy Enochian sigils, their hands still on each other’s shoulders. There’s a dead silence in the air, not even the sounds of the wind chimes on the outside porch reach their ears. An eerie, flat-out foreboding calm surrounds them.

But Sam doesn’t register it at first, because there’s a vehement truth beaming from Castiel’s eyes, one that says that maybe Sam should focus on the mission, and know that their little affair last night wasn’t quite an affair and maybe not so little either.

“So help you two if this is part of something bigger,” Castiel says.

“And if it’s not?” Sam challenges.

Castiel relaxes his grip. “Then I owe you a drink.”

Sam’s lips turn into a wry smile, and he leans in to kiss Castiel quickly. They’re interrupted before they even connect by a hearty roar emanating throughout the hall.

“Hey!”

Sam looks at the source of the roar and sees a tall, burly brute in a Superman tee, standing at the opposite end of the hall.

Castiel’s eyes go wide. “Lycanthrope,” he whispers.

Sam translates. “The werewolf-vampire?”

“I know you!” shouts the guy. “You’re the guys from the convention!” He opens his mouth wide. A set of sharp, vicious teeth protrude from his gums.

“Go,” Castiel instructs Sam.

Sam nods and pulls out his knife. He breaks the sigils with a long rake of the blade across the door. Sam gives Castiel one last, nervous glance before bolting into the basement, swapping the blade for a pistol and flashlight as he descends the creaky wooden stairs.

“Dean!” he shouts.

“Sammy!” Dean shouts in return.

Sam reaches the concrete floor. As he walks, he drags his feet through the chalk sigils drawn on the ground, breaking them so that Castiel can get through if need be. He points his flashlight in the first two corners, seeing nothing but dusty old furniture, a few appliances, and other odds and ends.

“Sam! Here!”

Sam spins around and sees his brother, somewhat disheveled, still in his suit minus the jacket, the first button of his shirt undone and his tie somewhat loosened. Sam lowers his gun and closes the gap between them, then embraces Dean tight. “Cas is upstairs.”

Dean pats him on the back before they break. “So you made it in okay,” he says, picking up his dirty suit jacket from a rickety chair.

“Yeah, a little too okay.” Sam pulls out a gun for Dean and hands it off. “Silver bullets with Dead-Man’s Blood.”

Dean nods in approval and checks the gun quick. “Good luck or trap, makes no difference to me. Been sittin’ in this basement for too long, Sam.”

Sam listens for signs of a struggle upstairs. He hears nothing. He and Dean cautiously approach the stairs. “They didn’t even let you go to the bathroom?”

“Well no, they let me upstairs for that, but the guy had to go with me.”

“The vampire-werewolf guy who’s obsessed with your voice?”

Dean gives him a cocky shrug. “What can I say, Sammy? I transcend the bounds of species and gender.”

Sam lets out a quick burst of air. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“Tell you about what?”

“Nothing.” Then: “Do you hear that?”

Dean raises his aim up the stairs. “Nope.”

“He should’ve been here by now,” Sam says.

Without thinking, they ascend the stairs like the well-trained hunters they are. They open the door the same way, ready to shoot if necessary.

No one’s in the hall.

“Damn it,” Dean curses, taking the lead down the hallway.

Sam follows, but stops when something outside a nearby window catches his eye.

“Dean,” he mutters, framing one side of the window, his back to the wall.

Dean walks over to Sam and takes cover on the other side. “Son of a bitch.”

The Ghost King is out there, pacing around a ring of fire encircling Castiel. The vampire-werewolf stands to his right, his arms crossed like a bouncer at a club.

“Yoo hoo!” Merk says. “I have your friend here. Come out now and I will let him go.”

Dean growls. “How could Cas let that jackass get the jump on him?”

Sam’s face tenses. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Dean gives Sam a look. “The hell? Did we trade places or somethin’?”

“First he takes you, and now Cas?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever. Got anything that can pop this dick, or what?”

_Damn it!_ “Cas had his blade.”

“Okay, so we’re screwed unless we break that ring. Got any ideas?”

Sam looks around the place, hoping to spot something to stir up a solution. He sees the kitchen through a doorframe.

“How about we throw everything we can at Cas until something lands on top of the fire?”

Dean considers this for a second. “That’s not a bad plan.”

Sam nods at the kitchen.

“You wanna throw a plate at Cas?” Dean asks.

“Well, at the fire _around_ Cas.”

Dean shakes his head. “Why don’t we just run in and stomp out the fire?”

“That works too.”

Dean motions toward the door.

“What’s taking you two so long?” Merk shouts. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Does he always whine this much?” Sam asks Dean as they exit to the porch.

“Yep.”

They approach Merk without incident. Dean aims his weapon at Merk first, so Sam, despite also wanting to pop Merk in the skull, points his at the guard.

“Let him go!” Sam and Dean demand in unison.

“Why? So the three of you can stop me from having all this fun?” Merk waves his gloved hand in the air like the eccentric bastard he is. “Forget it. You should have stayed out of this.”

“Well we didn’t,” Sam says. That’s when he notices that for the first time in a long time, Castiel’s eyes aren’t glued to Dean.

“I see that,” Merk pouts.

“You really think we’re gonna let some crazy-ass angel run around and take people?” Dean asks. “Maybe you should ask your brother there how well that’s gonna go over with us.”

“He kills them, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean exhales quick. “Great. Let’s just shoot them and get this over with.”

“Wait!” Merk lets out. “Don’t you want to know why I do what I do?”

The Winchesters shake their heads in disgust.

“So you’re telling me that you encounter the most fabulous foe you’ve ever encountered, and you don’t even want to know my grand plan? Or why I like to be called ‘the Ghost King’?”

Dean tilts his head toward Sam. “You wanna know, Sam?”

“Nope. Do you?”

“Not really.”

Merk puts his hands on his hips. “But I’m...fabulous!”

Sam snorts. “You’re just reinforcing a negative stereotype!”

“Dude,” Dean mutters. “Now’s not the time to reason with the bad guy.”

Sam grumbles. “Right. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Yikes!” the guard suddenly yells, falling to the ground just as Sam moves to shoot.

Sam doesn’t shoot back—yet. _Better make sure he’s serious about mercy,_ he notes before turning his attention back to Dean, Merk, and Cas.

Dean rushes the circle, stomping out a section of the knee-high fire surrounding Castiel. He rejoins Sam once he’s confident the circle is broken.

Castiel, free from his bond, disappears, then reappears behind Merk, his blade drawn and held close to his disgraced brother’s throat. “I’m more than just the angel of Thursday,” Castiel taunts.

Merk smiles devilishly. “You’re less. Lost something recently, have you?”

Castiel glances at Sam quickly over Merk’s shoulder. “Don’t make me do this. Come back to Heaven.”

“No one _makes_ you do anything,” Merk remarks, struggling to free himself from Castiel’s grip. “That’s the big joke. Your limitations are of your own creation.”

Sam thinks it’s an erudite observation, but can’t shake the feeling that Merk knows more about the big mess upstairs. He decides to ignore it for the sake of the moment.

Merk drops his eccentric act. A tone that Sam and Dean have only heard from the most stoic of angels comes out of his mouth. “I wanted to give you a wild adventure. I wanted to be ridiculous for a few thousand years just to see how it would pan out. You’re telling me that I needed an end game? A point?”

“You hurt innocent people,” Castiel states.

“And now you’re going to stop me unless I join you in Heaven with your silly little war.”

“I’m going to stop you if you do not swear to keep innocents out of harm’s way.”

Merk laughs. “Well this whole thing just got a bit too ‘serious business’ for me. It’s too bad Gabriel’s not around anymore to back me up.”

A look of pain crosses Castiel’s face.

“Well?” Merk asks. “Are you going to kill me, or what?”

Castiel looks to the Sam and Dean for answers.

They don’t have them.

Castiel releases Merk. “Make up for your sins.”

Merk straightens his attire and looks at the guard cowering on the ground. “Volfie, you can get up now. The big scary man decided not to kill me after all.”

The vampire-werewolf—Volfie—carefully rises to his feet. He shyly looks at Dean and gives a quick wave. “Thanks for the voicemail. Call me sometime?”

“Uh, no?” Dean replies.

Sam wonders what that conversation would sound like.

“Ignore him,” Merk consoles the guard. “I know he’s pretty, but he’s not the one for you. I’ll ask Janet if she can set you up with someone.”

“Who’s Janet?” Dean asks.

Merk glares at him. “My girlfriend?”

Disbelief. “Really?”

Sam nudges him. “Negative stereotype, remember?”

Merk and Volfie walk away to the house.

“So that’s it?” Dean asks Castiel. “You’re just gonna let them go?”

Castiel looks at Sam. “It’s what you would’ve done.”

Dean picks up on the silent interaction. “Right. Can we leave or what? Kinda achin’ for a shower and a—”

Castiel touches his fingers to Dean’s forehead, instantly cleaning him of dirt and relieving his aches.

Sam wonders why the magic touch didn’t rejuvenate his cells enough to keep him from being sleepy. He figures it’s a problem best left to the scientists.

Dean blinks. “Uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says, moving between the two Winchesters. “Sam asked for the same thing this morning.”

Sam panics.

Dean’s suspicious. “...Why?”

Castiel, aware he slipped, takes the opportunity to teleport the three of them back to the Impala.

“What happened when I was gone?” Dean asks.

Sam tosses him the keys. “Lots,” he says, which isn’t a technically a lie, and he thinks it’ll help him cover for when Dean makes his obligatory lewd remark of the day.

Dean hops in the driver’s seat. Sam gets in the passenger’s seat. Castiel’s shoulders slink when he remembers that he must sit in the back.

“Like?” Dean asks as he starts the car.

“Long story,” Sam says.


	9. Chapter 9

They’re seated in a booth at a diner, with Dean alone on one side of the table, and Sam and Castiel on the other. They haven’t been there for long, and are still perusing their menus, talking about (almost) everything that happened while Dean was gone.

“A Hunter-Hunting Convention?” Dean repeats. “That’s about the last thing we need.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam echoes. “Anyway, after that, we were pretty much stuck. The police came up with a few things, but they fell through.”

Dean looks up briefly from the menu. “So you were what, flyin’ by the seat of your ass from there?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “So to speak. Until you called.”

Dean smiles at him. “Yeah. You sounded freaked.”

Castiel says nothing.

“Sittin’ next to Sam today, huh?” Dean notes. “You know he’s a giant, right?”

Sam tries his best not to panic again.

“Are you suggesting that I sit with you?” Castiel asks.

Dean immediately pretends he was joking. “Just makin’ fun of Sammy.”

But Sam thinks otherwise. _Did he want Cas to sit by him? Is it one of those things?_ His eyes scan for healthy alternatives to the grease in an attempt to calm the guilt in his stomach.

“Dude,” Dean lets out. “Look.” He flattens out his menu on the table and points to an item on the list. “You think this is supposed to be ‘grape’ jelly?”

Sam looks at the questionable item. “Looks like the ‘g’ got scratched off.”

“So we can order toast with r—”

Sam stomps Dean’s foot beneath the table. “You can’t say that!” he scolds in a hushed tone.

“Fine, fine,” Dean agrees, moving his finger to another item on the list. “Here, look at this one. Hope it’s not too controversial for you.”

Sam reads the menu. “‘Two sausage patties layered between our signature pancakes, served with our sausage-link sampler, and your choice of eggs, fruit, or hash browns.’“ He doesn’t get it. “So what? It’s a heart attack on a plate.”

Dean looks to an imaginary audience for guidance, then back at his brother. “No, you read the description. It’s called a ‘Sausage Fest,’ Sammy.” He giggles like a juvenile in his throat as he waits for the smile to cross Sam’s face.

It doesn’t.

“Just like this story,” Castiel states off-handedly.

Sam brushes it off as just another one of Castiel’s unusual, transcendent comments.

“Well, hey, that was easy, right?” Dean says. “I mean you guys busted in, guns a’blazin’, and we basically just walked right out.”

Castiel sighs. “I have this feeling we were pre-destined to do this from the start.”

Dean retorts, “You _would_ think that.”

Castiel looks up at the ratty ceiling tiles. “The only victim here was plot.”

“Uh, you mean Merk’s plot, right?” Sam asks. “Dean was kidnapped, and we got him back.”

Castiel returns to reality. “Yes. Of course. Merk’s plot.”

A male server approaches the table. “Hi guys, welcome to Rudy’s Pancake and Waffle House. Can I interest you in a Sausage Fest today?”

Dean gives the guy one look up and down and can’t help but burst into laughter.

Sam kicks him. “My brother here’s an idiot who wants coffee and pancakes.”

“You’re the idiot,” Dean says. He turns the server, unable to let go of the opportunity to make a joke. “Have you ever had a ‘sausage fest’?”

The server fondly thinks about it, then understands Dean’s meaning. His look goes sour. “Coffee and pancakes.” His demeanor returns to normal as he readdresses Sam with his attention. “And you?”

“Uh, the fruit plate and an orange juice.”

The server happily jots down the order and looks to Castiel. “And you?”

Castiel leans close to Sam. “Is it customary to constantly drink coffee?”

Gently, Sam answers, “Yeah. You’re fine.” He looks up at the server. “Just coffee for him for now.” He spots Dean’s betrayed expression and distances himself from Cas as best as he can in the booth.

“Great!” the server says, collecting the menus from the table. “I’ll be back with your drinks soon.”

“You order for him now?” Dean asks. “Okay. _Weird_.” He leans back in his booth. “So did you talk to that dude that Ed mentioned?”

“The guy who found the same connections? Kinghunter, or whatever?” Sam clarifies. “No.”

“Why bother going into extensive detail at the start of this whole mess about it then?” Dean wonders.

Sam looks at me. Stop it, Sammy.

“Because you would've asked,” Sam says.

“Whatever.”

The server returns with their drinks, then leaves again.

Dean takes a cautious sip of his coffee. “So did you two only find the one guy? That spirit of that medium? What happened to everyone else?”

Sam and Castiel shrug.

“Belladonna’s spirit hinted that they died, but honestly, we don’t know,” Sam says.

“And that dead-end lead?” Dean continues. “That CEO or whatever?”

Sam and Castiel look about the diner, as if whistling in their minds about nothing in particular.

“So we let that douchebag go, and we didn’t find any of the missing people, alive or dead?”

Sam stammers, “Well...no...uh, not really.”

Castiel breaks in. “He swore a promise to me, in Enochian, that he would cease his activities.”

Dean gestures to the air. “When?”

“It was psychic.”

“Tch. Freaky angel-radio crap.” Dean sighs. “Did you tell the police I was found?”

“Did you see me call them?” Sam argues.

“More loose ends, okay...” Dean leans into the table, his face serious and lacking the usual creases borne of anger and delight. “So what the hell were you two doing all that time?”

“Looking for you!” Sam replies, while...

Castiel says to Sam, “He knows.”

Dean’s expression quickly changes. “Well now I do. Were you two messing with that war while I was _kidnapped_?”

Sam answers affirmatively; Castiel does not.

“We should tell him,” Castiel says.

“Wow, Cas doesn’t want to keep a secret,” Dean remarks with snark. “Sam, well, I’m used to it with you.”

Sam’s hurt. In fact, it’s the only thing that has him wanting to tell Dean. “I really don’t think this is the right place.”

Dean sits back and crosses his arms. “So I’m gonna be pissed off is what you’re sayin’.”

Castiel touches Sam’s hand beneath the table. “Sam, it will ease his worries.”

Sam doesn’t cave.

Dean’s voice is calmer now. “So that’s what happened. This whole war business goes down, and you guys lost something major, didn’t you? All those weapons, maybe? That’s what that dick meant.”

Sam glances at Castiel. His nerves are just about shot, but he knows that this is about the least awful thing that he could lay on Dean. “Uh, this is gonna be kind of...look, I just need you to promise me you’re gonna be calm, okay?”

“I _am_ calm,” Dean answers.

“It’s about—” Sam pauses. He hopes Castiel picks up where he left off without forgetting to censor certain details.

“ _We_ did not lose something,” Castiel says. “ _I_ lost something.”

Dean’s glare demands more details.

“Yeah, I really don’t wanna do this,” Sam mutters.

“Do what?” Dean asks. “Because unless you two bumped uglies or something, this weirdo behavior is kinda...” His eyes widen a bit as his lips purse in thought. “No...really?”

Sam’s cheeks burn. He tries to focus on any object that isn’t in the vicinity of Dean.

“It’s true,” Castiel says.

Dean laughs in denial. “No freakin’ way.”

Sam coughs, his throat dry after having forgotten how to swallow. “It’s uh...yeah. Are you...um, mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because of our bond,” Castiel says.

Sam wants to facepalm, because that’s a verb now.

Dean tilts his head. “Are you serious?”

Even Sam could see the subtext. “You mean you have no...uh...you know, for Cas?”

Dean says nothing for a moment. “Are you asking me for a threesome?”

Sam sighs in defeat. “This was a horrible idea.”

“This was a horrible job,” Dean adds. He studies them for a moment, then asks, “So who was the top?”

“Chuck would know,” Castiel answers.

Because we sure as hell don’t.

End.

P.S. And the moral of today’s story is...

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xv6IWX1_XHQ>

Live long and prosper, may the Force be with you, be excellent to each other, and...don’t be a dick.

* * *

 **Note:** Notes on references and sources were too long to fit in a footnote. Please see the next chapter, entitled "I don't understand that reference."


	10. "I don't understand that reference."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of some major pop-culture references within the story, as well as notes from the author, and sources used to create the work.

###### Author's Notes: 

**(From Aug. 4th, 2011 on LiveJournal)**

I hope that all of you truly enjoyed this piece.  The format of the work is something I've wanted to do for a very long time (years), and while I'm sad to say that I wasn't able to include everything that I wanted to do with this piece (a mini-game, a comic format, and some _Star Wars_ artwork, specifically Castiel holding the angel blade and the "light saber" in the warehouse--had a hard time finding an artist to collab with and would still love to see anything if anyone is so inspired), I think it still came out as intended.  So yes, this started as a fandom-less project quite a bit ago, and around March of this year (2011), I decided to turn it into a Supernatural fanfiction.

So thanks for viewing/reading/hearing whatever this exactly is.  I truly appreciate your support!  Let me know what you thought!

-Jack

**(From April 2, 2012, on AO3):**

I hope the transfer to AO3 from LJ was as smooth as I’d hoped! Please leave me any polite comments on the structure/presentation/etc. Also note that any viewing problems you’ve had may be solved by viewing the work in my style. Thank you!

###### "I don’t understand that reference.": 

**CHAPTER ONE**

  * 11:11 (Time): In paranormal circles, 11:11 is said to be a lucky time, so when the clock strikes 11:11, people are supposed to make a wish. Or something.
  * The Black Glove: Stereotypical of evil villains wearing gloves.
  * Agents Matthew Fox Mulder and Dana Carvey-Scully: Matthew Fox (actor) + Fox Mulder (X-files character), and Dana Carvey (comedian) + Dana Scully (X-files character). Runner up: Peter Jessica Parker (Peter Parker + Sarah Jessica Parker).
  * Walters, Jamie: Sang the lead vocals for the song “How Do You Talk to an Angel?” Yeah, tell me about it.
  * “Smell the glove.”: _Spinal Tap_.



**CHAPTER TWO**

  * Officer Teri Bauer and Police Chief Denise “Denny” Crane: Shout outs to _24_ and _Boston Legal_ respectively. And, as the story later points out, a shallow attempt at trying to write a _Supernatural_ fic that isn’t a total sausage-fest.
  * “His name is Merkwürdigerhandschuh.”: From _Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb_. There is a line of dialogue translating Dr. Strangelove's name into German. Likewise, our villain's name is a rough translation of “Strange Glove.”
  * The Real Egg: Anagram for “The Gag Reel.”
  * 456: This is a reference to _Torchwood_.  Also, 456 does text people with deals.
  * John Edwards: Not the politician, but the self-proclaimed “medium” and host of _Crossing Over with John Edwards_. By the way, I’m thinking of a name with a vowel in it. Do you have a deceased loved one with a name that has a vowel in it?



**CHAPTERS THREE AND FOUR**

  * Supernatural: ANOTHER HOPE, Light Saber, Jedi Mind Trick, “It translate better in Wookie,” and “Is Heaven in a galaxy far, far away?”: _Star Wars_. Just...you should know this.
  * John Dorian Dream: Zach Braff’s character in the show _Scrubs_ often went into these little daydream sequences. This joke is admittedly inspired by a joke I heard in something (I don’t remember what) that made fun of “Zach Braff music.”
  * J. Welwietta: The author of the article is “J. Welwietta,” which is a play on a moniker I wrote bad fanfiction under (Jackie Velvietta).



**CHAPTER FIVE**

  * Sam looks at Castiel. “I think only one of those quotes was accurate.”: “You killed my brother! You dirty rat!” - _Taxi!_ , “You killed my father! Prepare to die!” - _The Princess Bride_ , and “I am your father, Luke!” - _Star Wars_. What Sam said.
  * “Cass” versus “Cas”: Fandom shortens Castiel’s name to “Cas” (because it makes more sense), while it’s been reported that in scripts, Castiel’s nickname is often written as “Cass.” (We as people usually only add extra consonants to nicknames if we are going to make it all cutesy and add an “ie” or “y” to the end of it.)
  * Referring to “Jack” as “their” instead of he/she: Because “Jack” throws people off. They can’t figure out through the internet if I’m a male or female. I’ve been called “dude” and “girlfriend” and “buddy.” I’ve admittedly had some fun with this in the past, just because it’s interesting to see if people base gender off of names, likes/dislikes, and/or “voice.”
  * The origins of my pen name: The reason I chose this name was because it sounded kind of glam-rock. I’m fairly certain that people think it’s related to the drink and/or song, but they are incorrect.



**CHAPTER SIX**

  * Kirk T. James, CEO of USS Enterprises and "Set phasers to oblivious.": Or James T. Kirk of _Star Trek_ , which introduced the well-known device, the phaser.
  * Harry Potter: Due to an implied problem with bad cell reception, Sam thinks that Castiel said “Slitherin” instead of “slithering,” and thus wonders how they got on Harry Potter.
  * “Some Batman movie.”: Jensen Ackles did the voice of the _Red Hood in Batman: Under the Red Hood_.



**CHAPTER SEVEN**

  * LiveFaceSpaceDeadInsaneDreamJournalTumblingBlogPress.com: A portmanteau of various social networking/blog sites. Inspired by some creative names used for myspace and facebook in Boston Legal.
  * Rebecca Black: Because I totally wrote that fanfiction already (A Plague of Melody on LiveJournal).



**CHAPTER EIGHT**

  * Halo: Because even God can’t get enough of those multiplayer console games where everyone shoots and homo-erotically tea-bag each other.



###### Sources and Such:

  * Based upon the TV series _Supernatural_ created by Eric Kripke.
  * Trailer contains content from EA's _The Sims 3_ and custom content from Fresh-Prince and dDefinder @ modthesims.info.
  * The Star Wars crawl is obviously based on the classic crawl from George Lucas' _Star Wars_.
  * The music for the Star Wars crawl is lifted from Garageband's library of pre-set, boring podcast jingles.
  * Sam references the definition of “meta” from this dictionary verbatim:  New Oxford American Dictionary 2nd edition © 2005 by Oxford University Press, Inc.
  * Convention ticket and X-Box achievement generated at Says-It.com.
  * Images for the Ghostfacers icons (avatars for ghostfaceralpha and ghostfacer_shammie) taken from Ghostfacers.com.
  * The YouTube video linked to in the final chapter (nine) was created by YouTube user cocoacoconuts75 and contains content from the animated TV series _Animaniacs_ © Warner Bros.




End file.
